Fix You
by boogima
Summary: When an unexpected event disrupts the Netherfield ball, Mr. Darcy finds out that leaving Hertfordshire and Elizabeth Bennet behind is more easily said than done.
1. Chapter 1

_author's note/disclaimer: this story is based on pride and prejudice and all the characters and other goodness belong to the amazing miss jane austen. my apologies in advance for the possible poor handling of the regency lingo, as well as other possible inaccuracies, and for the fact that i've chosen one of the oldest plots in the JA fanfic book. i simply couldn't resist:)_

**Fix You  
**

"_Good God, no!"_

Later, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, often wondered what moment of madness had brought those fateful words to his lips that day. There were times when he was angry at himself for ever opening his mouth and others when he was simply confused. There had been a time, a short happy moment, when he had thought them the three wisest words he'd ever said. That time was gone. But no matter how he thought of them, his thoughts were always inseparably bound to one thing. Always, always Elizabeth. His wife.

**Part 1**

Fitzwilliam Darcy looked at himself in the mirror for one last time before heading downstairs. He straightened his neckcloth and pushed an errant strand of hair back in its place. It was not vanity, he told himself, that made him take such fastidious care of his looks, but rather good manners. Looking unkempt would simply be unacceptable for a man of his station. If there was another reason he wished to look particularly well on this particular night, he tried not to dwell on it.

For many days now, there had been a resolution forming in his mind and tonight he was determined to act upon it. He would spend one final evening watching the eldest Miss Bennet, making sure that he was not mistaken, and then the first thing the next morning he would talk to Bingley. If there was time, he might even do it that very night, after the party was over. It would not do for Bingley to attach himself to her, not when her family was so unsuitable and when it seemed fairly sure that she was only accepting his advances to appease her mercenary mother. No, he had seen no signs of particular attachment on Miss Bennet's face, and if it was in his power to prevent Bingley from making this mistake, he would do it.

There was another reason he was so keen to get the unfortunate business over with. If he was worried about Bingley's growing attachment, he was no less worried about his own. It seemed that the more time he spent at Netherfield, the more he found himself either thinking of Miss Elizabeth Bennet or telling himself _not_ to think of her. It simply would not do. All her fine eyes and sharp wit could not compensate for the fact that she came from a family of no connections, of no fortune to speak of. She was quite simply unsuitable. Unsuitable to be his wife, unsuitable to be the Mistress of Pemberley. He would be the laughing stock of the ton.

Darcy cursed under his breath as he walked out of his rooms. _His wife_. Whenever those words entered his head, his mind was instantly filled with images of her. Elizabeth in his home, her laughter filling the empty hallways. Elizabeth in his arms as he kissed her senseless. Elizabeth in his bed. Clearing his throat he headed towards the stairway, his steps swift and determined. The guests were beginning to arrive.

As decided as he was on the course of his evening, he found himself deviating from it as soon as he laid eyes on her. From the moment she entered the house, in a glowing white gown, a searching look in her eyes, he found himself constantly drawn in her direction, always acutely aware of where exactly she was, of whom she was talking with. It annoyed him to be so easily distracted but he could not help it. How he could ever have declared her tolerable, he did not understand. She was nothing less than luminous.

Her family, however, was not. Everywhere he looked he saw another breach of decorum. Not only was her family unconnected, it was in every way abhorrent. How Miss Bennet and Elizabeth... _Miss_ Elizabeth could be any way connected to that family, he did not understand. But it was their misfortune, he reminded himself, not his and Bingley's. He needed to get himself and his friend away from here, as soon as possible.

It was this thought that finally drove him to ask her to dance. If, he convinced himself, he was leaving in the morning, what harm could one dance do? He had been very careful, sure that she harboured no expectations of him ever making her an offer. One dance would not change that. It would be a suitable farewell. For the both of them. He realized his mistake as soon as he touched her hand.

Every time the intricate patterns of the dance brought their hands together, Darcy felt a little jolt, and the images of her, the ones he was constantly fighting to suppress, came to him stronger than ever. Utterly distracted by the sudden urge to hold her, it took him some time to realize that she was talking to him. What had she said? Something about the dance?

"Yes," he replied, trying to sound more detached than he felt, "I find it most invigorating."

She seemed satisfied with this reply and he was glad to be silent again. He was desperate to get away from her, from the brightness of her eyes, from the light but intoxicating smell of rosewater left floating in the air whenever she passed him. What had he been thinking, asking her to dance? Did his foolishness know no bounds? And there she was, talking again.

Carefully trying to compose his features into a polite smile, he replied:

"I assure you, madam, that whatever you wish me to say shall be said."

"Very well," replied she, "That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But _now_ we may be silent."

He loved it, the arch manner with which she flirted with him, and could not help but continue, even if she had given him permission to say nothing at all.

"Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?"

"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for a half an hour together; and yet for the advantage of _some_, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."

He smiled. She was teasing him again. It was such a fresh change compared to the inane fawning he was so used to from other ladies.

"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"

"Both," she replied, "For I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."

He wondered for a moment where she was headed with this. Her mind seemed to always be taking turns he was not expecting it to.

"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure," he finally replied, "How near it may be to _mine_, I cannot pretend to say. _You_ think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."

"I must not decide on my own performance."

Her reply was curt and he wondered briefly if he had insulted her somehow. But it was of no importance for he was leaving the next day, was he not? In all probability he would never see her again after this night. The thought stung him more than he cared to admit. But it would have to be done. He would leave her. He _would_ conquer this.

In an attempt to distract himself from his thoughts, he tried to continue their conversation, blurting out the first thing that came to mind:

"Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?"

He immediately noticed the turn of her countenance, the almost devious arch of her brow. What was she up to now?

"We do, sir." She paused for a moment, contemplative. "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."

The effect on his mood was immediate. Deuced Wickham! How did he become a part of this conversation? She could not possibly have given credit to anything that blackguard might have had to say, could she? She was far too clever to fall under the charms of the likes of him! Was she not?

This unpleasant train of thought was interrupted by the sudden commotion on the other side of the room. The music came to an abrupt end and the dancers paused to see what was happening. Turning his head, Darcy saw that someone seemed to have fallen on the ground and there were people gathering around him. A shrill voice that Darcy immediately recognized as Mrs. Bennet's, cut through the air:

"Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet! Oh, where are my salts?"

Suddenly, Darcy felt a pair of hands on his arms, pushing him forcibly to the side, almost toppling him over. A white blur swept past him towards the commotion. Elizabeth. Instinctively, he followed on her heel as she determinedly pushed her way through the crowd towards her mother's voice. And then, suddenly, she fell to the ground as well, the desperation in her voice chilling him to the bone.

"Papa!"

- - -

Two weeks later Darcy found himself in a most unexpected situation. If all had gone according to his well-laid plans, he would at that very moment have been in London, maybe fencing or at the club with Bingley. Yet, by an odd twist of fate, he was still in Hertfordshire and if that was not enough, he was sitting in a room full of members of the very family he had been so keen to avoid.

The ball in Netherfield had come to an unexpected end when Elizabeth's father, Mr. Thomas Bennet, had suffered some sort of a seizure and had been rendered unconscious. The apothecary had been called and Bingley and Darcy had carried the elderly gentleman to one of Bingley's guestrooms. When the apothecary had turned out to be a hesitant, nervous man with very little skill to recommend him, Bingley had insisted on sending for his own physician from town. But it had been of little help. Mr. Bennet was unconscious and, according to Bingley's physician, it was impossible to know when, if ever, he would wake up.

The physician had declared that his patient should not be moved and Bingley, ever the gentleman, had invited the entire Bennet family to stay at Netherfield. And so, despite his sister's adamant protests, several guestrooms had been prepared and Mrs. Bennet and her five daughters – along with their cousin Mr. Collins, who had seen fit to invite himself along because, according to him, in situations such as these the constant presence of a man of the cloth was imperative – had come to stay for an indefinite period of time.

As days had passed, the physician had seen little improvement in his patient and it had become less and less likely that Mr. Bennet would ever regain consciousness. Darcy had watched as the dark shadows under Elizabeth's eyes had grown more and more pronounced. At dinnertimes he had noticed that she only pushed the food around her plate and hardly ever ate a bite. One afternoon, he had found her at the library, a forgotten book on her lap, her gaze unfocused, with such a forlorn look on her face that he'd had half a mind to rush to her, wrap his arms around her and tell her it would all turn out well. He had turned on his heels and left the room immediately.

And now, two weeks had passed and Darcy felt that he was on the brink of losing sanity. Every night he tossed and turned in his sheets, sleep evading him. Never in his life had he felt such an overpowering urge to comfort someone, to protect them from the evils of the world, and he could not understand it. He knew he should make his excuses to Bingley and leave for London, but every day he found himself coming up with a new excuse to delay his departure. Bingley needed him, he told himself, he might do something rash if Darcy was not there to look after him. How ironic his little excuses would later seem to him.

It was tea-time in Netherfield and Mrs. Bennet was holding court in the drawing room, surrounded by her younger daughters, Mr. Collins and several ladies of the neighbourhood who were more eager to hear fresh news of the tragedy than Darcy thought was entirely proper. Even less proper was the way Mrs. Bennet seemed to enjoy being the center of attention, almost seeming to secretly indulge in the horrible situation. Did she not realize how this could affect her? How potentially devastating the situation was for the future of her daughters?

A little distance away, Elizabeth sat in quiet conversation with Bingley. Miss Bennet was nowhere to be seen and Darcy assumed she was with her father. Darcy hardly ever saw Elizabeth and Miss Bennet together these days, as one of them seemed to always be sitting with Mr. Bennet. He had also noticed with disapproval that the patient's wife and younger daughters seemed much less eager to participate in this vigil. Sometimes he thought that if one were to judge the situation only based on the behaviour of the two youngest Bennet daughters, one might never guess that anything at all was dreadfully amiss. They seemed almost as boisterous as ever, only subdued when reprimanded by their eldest sisters.

Darcy's attention was suddenly caught by a new turn in the conversation Mrs. Bennet was leading. It seemed that one of the prying ladies from the neighbourhood – Mrs. Long, if Darcy remembered correctly – had finally thrown propriety to wind and asked the very question that was on everyone's mind these days. What would happen to Mrs. Bennet and her daughters if the worst was to happen?

To Darcy's utter amazement, Elizabeth's mother actually _tittered_. At a moment like this! Did her impropriety know no limits?

"Not to worry, Amelia dear," she said in a staged whisper "it is all taken care of."

What was taken care of? Was she talking about Bingley and Miss Bennet? Darcy's breath caught in his throat when he heard her continue:

"It has been agreed," and here she looked pointedly at Mr. Collins, "that my Elizabeth and her cousin will wed as soon as possible. Do you not think it a perfect solution to all our problems?"

As if everything was happening in slow motion, Darcy took in the expressions of the people around him: Mrs. Bennet's self-satisfied smile, the smug look on the face of that obnoxious cousin of theirs. Elizabeth's face, white as a sheet, full of shock and humiliation. And then, he felt himself pouncing up from his chair, unable to stop the words that blurted out of his mouth, loud and heated:

"Good God, no!"

Suddenly, all eyes in the room were fixed on him. Bingley was the first to recover from the shock enough to open his mouth:

"No?"


	2. Chapter 2

_author's note: many thanks for the lovely reviews, i have a happy smile on my face every time i notice one has arrived:) i had a bit of trouble writing this next one, i had it all planned out but then it turned out that making it work in writing was much harder than making it work in my head. i hope it doesn't disappoint:)  
_

**Part 2**

"No?"

Realizing that the entire room was waiting with baited breath for him to continue his outburst, Darcy suddenly felt uncomfortable in the extreme. What on Earth did he think he was doing? His brain was telling him to sit back down and shut up, but his traitorous mouth seemed to have other ideas:

"N- no."

Gone was the angry confidence of his previous proclamation and he sounded almost meek now. Just shut your mouth, man! Sit back down and put on the haughtiest expression you can manage and no one will dare to question you further. But he could not help it. The idea of Elizabeth… _his_ Elizabeth, married to that toad of a man was simply too much to bear. Something _had_ to be done.

His brain racked for a solution, something to extricate himself from the awkward situation and save Elizabeth from the impending marriage to her cousin. He realized the room was still stunned still and he would have to say something soon. And then, he took one look at _her_ face and suddenly the overwhelming need to wipe away the anguish he saw there seemed to override all rational thought. He was stupefied when the simple lie dropped from his lips, with such ease and confidence that even George Wickham and his tales of woe would have paled in comparison:

"What I mean to say is this: It is impossible for Miss Elizabeth to wed her cousin because she is already engaged to _me_. We- " here he paused for an infinitesimal moment, his abhorrence for disguise fighting a lost battle against saving Elizabeth, "we have kept it a secret because my family will obviously disapprove of my choice, but I spoke to Mr. Bennet on the morning of the ball and he was kind enough to give us his blessing."

If Darcy had listened, he would have heard the entire room gasp in unison. If he would have looked, he would have seen Mrs. Bennet, gasping for breath, calling for her salts. He would have noticed the stunned face of Mr. Collins who looked much like he had been hit on the head with something blunt and heavy. He might have been amused by Caroline Bingley, moments earlier engaged in a game of cards with her sister, now gaping at him, her mouth hanging open, her face taking on a rather unbecoming shade of red. But Darcy did not look around. He only had eyes for one person and she was still sitting where she had been a few minutes ago, her eyes on him, an unreadable expression on her face.

Mrs. Bennet, having finally recovered her powers of speech, turned to Elizabeth:

"Good Heavens, child, what is the meaning of this? Is it really true?"

Darcy was relieved when the attention of the room turned from him to Elizabeth, but soon became anxious when she said nothing, merely continued to stare at him. The idea that she might object to his ruse had not so much as crossed his mind. He was saving her from that odious man, sacrificing every principle he had ever held dear, offering her a chance for a life she could never have dreamed of. So why did she not say anything?

And then, lifting her chin, she turned her eyes from him to the rest of the room, her voice trembling slightly when she replied:

"It is."

With that, she turned and left the room, despite her mother's orders to stay, leaving Darcy to deal with the general shock and amazement.

It took some time before Darcy managed to make his own escape and all this while his mind reeled in utter confusion. What he had done had felt so amazingly right the moment he had done it, but as soon as Elizabeth disappeared from his vision, the full impact of what had happened started to sink in and he found himself feeling a little faint. Mrs. Bennet's unadulterated shrieks of joy – what carriages, what pin money for her daughter – reminded him painfully of what he was connecting himself to by marrying Elizabeth. The mere thought of ever introducing Mrs. Bennet to any of his London acquaintances left him thoroughly mortified.

Mr. Collins, in high dudgeon over having been so unceremoniously thwarted in his plans to marry his fair cousin, declared that his noble patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh would be most seriously displeased by her nephew's intentions and announced his plans of writing to Her Ladyship immediately. Darcy thought for a moment that he should try and do something to stop him but then thought better of it, resigned. His aunt was going to find out sooner or later, he might as well let the odious man save him the trouble of informing her himself. He could only imagine the onslaught that would follow when she found out.

But above all, there was one thing that turned in his mind while he stood there, giving clipped, monosyllabic answers to the prying inquiries coming to him from all directions. Elizabeth. Why had she gone? He would have expected for her to stay, to somehow express her gratitude over his sacrifice. But there had been nothing, no private smile, no thankful look. Just her back as she disappeared behind the door. In the end he decided that she had probably just been too overwhelmed by it all to act rationally. Was not he himself in some sort of a state of shock? No matter. They would have time to talk about it later. All the time in the world. The thought felt strangely pleasing.

Later, Darcy found himself sitting in Bingley's library. After he had managed his escape from the drawing room, he had walked around the house for some time, looking for Elizabeth, but she was nowhere to be found. Finally, he had given up, assuming that she was either in her own room or in her father's and if either was the case, he had no wish to disturb her. When, at one point of his search for her, he had heard the voices of Bingley and Mrs. Bennet approaching, he had quickly hid in the library, knowing that it was the one room in the house where anyone other than Elizabeth was unlikely to venture. He had no wish to talk to anyone else before he had had the chance to discuss the whole affair with her.

Alone in the library, Darcy tried to summon up his indignation over his own conduct, to remind himself of all the reasons why he had been so determined to stay away from Elizabeth Bennet. But no matter how he tried to concentrate on the vulgarity of her mother or the incessant flirting of her younger sisters, he found himself always distracted by other, more pleasant thoughts. At that moment, no amount of uncles residing in Cheapside could dampen his joy over the fact that she was to be his. _His wife_. For the first time in weeks he let his mind roam freely over all the implications those two little words held behind them.

His happy musings were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Opening his eyes, he saw Elizabeth, standing at the door, eyeing him with an expression on her face that could only be described as wary. Was she afraid that he had changed his mind?

"Good evening, sir."

Darcy rose from his chair and bowed stiffly, feeling very awkward all of a sudden.

"I-" Elizabeth seemed to hesitate a little, "I have asked my sister to stay a little longer with my father today. I believe you and I have something we need to discuss."

She stepped in and closed the door behind her and Darcy suddenly realized that this was only the second time that he was alone in a room with her. Secretly engaged indeed. He felt himself flush a little and was glad that the light in the room was relatively dim and she probably could not notice. And then, to Darcy's surprise, Elizabeth started pacing. She was wringing her hands and her brow was creased in distress. Suddenly, she cried:

"Oh, what is to be done?"

To be done? About what?

"Forgive me, madam, I do not catch your meaning."

Madam? After the thoughts he had entertained just a few moments ago, _madam_ did not seem quite the proper choice of words. _Dearest, loveliest_… But she was talking again.

"Surely half of Meryton knows about it by now, how am I to explain to them that there will be no wedding? That it was all a lie? What, may I ask, were you thinking? And what was_ I_ thinking, confirming it all! Oh, a wretched, wretched thing!"

For a moment, Darcy was puzzled by her outburst, but then it dawned on him: He had been right. She thought he had changed his mind. He should have understood that she would be clever enough to realize how very unlikely it was that a man of his position would ever offer for a woman like her. No wonder she was so upset, it would indeed put her in a difficult situation if he were to change his mind. To explain away a lie of such magnitude would be by no means easy. He should have been more determined to look her up as soon as he left the drawing room and convince her of his intentions.

Intent on correcting his mistake, he stepped closer and in a bold move that surprised even himself, reached his hand to gently cup her cheek. She stood still as a statue, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Forgive me, I should have found you sooner. It seems you have been labouring under a misapprehension. I realize how it could have happened, to be sure I almost did not believe it myself! Trust me, I have fought against this. It was not my intention to offer for you. Day after day I have tried to remind myself of my duty to my name and my family, of the obvious inferiority of your circumstances and the reprehensible manner in which your mother and your youngest sisters conduct themselves. But this afternoon showed me that it simply will not do. All my struggles have been in vain. Elizabeth, I said I would marry you, and marry you I will!"

And then, with a sudden clarity of passion, he bent down and kissed her, before she could offer any reply. To be sure, the moment lasted no more than a second, two at most, but it seemed to him that it stretched on forever. The way his nose brushed her soft cheek, the little whimper that escaped her when his lips touched hers. His hands, cupping her cheeks, fingers brushing the curls around her face. Her hands, on his chest...

Before he realized what was happening, the door burst open and he felt Elizabeth push him away with all her might. But it was too late. In the doorway stood Elizabeth's two youngest sisters, dissolving in to a fit of giggles at the sight they had discovered, followed by a footman who discreetly turned his head after taking in the scene inside the library. Darcy straightened his lapels angrily, frustrated by the interruption.

"Did you not consider knocking?"

This seemed to only increase the amusement of those insufferable girls and it took them a moment to gather themselves enough to speak.

"Lizzy," the other one – Miss Catherine? – finally said, catching her breath, "It's papa. He's awake!"

At this, Elizabeth rushed from the room, with one last strange look at him, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the room, considering the ramifications of what had just happened. Mr. Bennet was awake.

Outside, he heard Elizabeth's mother's shrill voice echoing in the hallway:

"Hurry, child, where have you been? Your father is awake! But it is the strangest thing, he seems to have gone out of his wits! He does not remember a thing about your engagement to Mr. Darcy! Oh, where are my salts?"


	3. Chapter 3

_author's note: t__hank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews, you are the most encouraging, adorable bunch of people ever:) (and completely off the topic of this story, katesie, if you're reading this, thanks for the hilarious review you'd left for something stupid, i laughed at your ideas so hard i almost dropped off my chair and am now thinking that if anyone should continue that story, it should be you:) but now onto part three of this story, where certain things are discussed and some trouble ensues.._

**Part 3**

The next morning, Darcy woke up feeling completely rested for the first time in weeks. The previous night, the whole house had been in uproar over the unexpected awakening of Mr. Bennet and no one had paid much attention to the fact that Darcy had retired early, taking a light repast in his rooms instead of coming down for dinner. After the eventful day, he had been sure he would not be able to sleep a wink but unexpectedly, had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow. In the morning, he was still confused about the events of the previous day and the mere thought of how different things might now be if Mr. Bennet had regained consciousness a day earlier left him reeling. But somehow, he was unable to summon up any genuine regret.

Finding a suitable spouse had been the burden of his adult life. Ever since he had become of age, he had faced constant pressure to marry. His aunt was demanding that he marry Anne, his uncle just that he marry. Every time he was in London, he was harassed by an armada of match-making mothers trying to promote their daughters in his eyes. Even here, in his friend's house, he was not left in peace. Avoiding Caroline Bingley's blatant advances had begun to take its toll on his patience a long time ago.

Now, albeit in a rather unconventional manner, the matter was suddenly settled and he felt relieved. And as to the poor connections and the lack of fortune on the side of his intended, what concerns were those to him? The idea that he needed to enhance his family's fortune by marriage had been impressed upon him ever since he was but a boy, but suddenly it seemed nonsensical. He had more than enough fortune for the both of them and, as soon as they were married, he could whisk Elizabeth away to London and, even more preferably, to Pemberley. And after that they surely need not have that much contact with Elizabeth's family. Did they?

Invigorated by a good night's sleep, Darcy decided to start his morning with a ride. He was up early and broke his fast alone, out of the house before anyone else had even ventured downstairs. He rejoiced in the feel of the wind against his face, the rhythm of the horse under him galloping faster and faster over the fields. By the time they returned to the gates of the estate, both the horse and the rider were happy and exhausted.

Walking back to the house from the stables, Darcy espied a familiar figure in the gardens and though his rational side was telling him that he was by no means representable after his vigorous ride, his feet were already carrying him towards the garden. Elizabeth jumped a little when he reached her and bade her good morning, but soon seemed to compose herself again.

"Good morning, sir. I confess, I have been walking in the gardens some time in the hope of meeting you."

Darcy felt a strange jolt of happiness. She had been waiting for him. He was about to step closer when she continued:

"You can have no doubt of what I wish to discuss with you. Your preposterous behaviour yesterday has left me in a most unfortunate situation. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Her voice was even but her face betrayed her agitation. Darcy halted, suddenly rooted to the spot. Preposterous? Was she upset because he had kissed her?

"I-" Darcy hesitated. He was not really sorry he had kissed her but he did realize it was not entirely proper. "I apologize. It seemed appropriate at the time. It was by no means my intention to displease you or endanger your reputation in any way."

To his surprise, this seemed to only agitate Elizabeth further and every last bit of calm was gone from her voice when she threw her hands in the air and cried:

"Appropriate! What in Heaven's name are you talking about? You have used my situation most cruelly and tricked me into playing a part in some deluded scheme of yours and you call it appropriate? Have you no shame, sir? No sense of honour?"

Darcy was starting to panic. What was she talking about? But before he had a chance to reply, she continued her outburst:

"And, as if this was not enough, you decided to compromise me, and in front of a servant and the two most indiscreet girls in all of England no less! You do realize that before this day is over, half the village will have heard about our supposedly amorous encounter in the library? Was my reputation worth nothing to you? Just a pawn in your twisted amusements, easily forgot when you return back to London and forget all about us? You, sir, are no gentleman!"

It was like a bucket full of icy water in his face. Here he was, thinking she would be grateful for the service he had done her, planning on their future felicity and_ this_ was what she really thought of him? How could he have been so blind? Trying to reign in the anger he felt bursting in his chest, he replied in a tight voice:

"And this is your opinion of me? This is the estimation in which you hold me! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, you are rejecting my kindness?"

"Your kindness?!" Her voice sounded incredulous.

"Contrary to your ridiculous assumption," he continued, his voice barely composed, "I was _not _playing games when I made my offer yesterday, did I not make that clear enough when we met in the library? I am not the sort of _gentleman_ to play games with the reputations of respectable ladies! If anything, you should be thankful for my intervention!"

"Thankful? For coercing me into claiming we were engaged to be married?"

Uncharacteristically, he let out a rather undignified snort at that. "Coercing you? As if you had _so_ many other options before you! If it were not for me, you would be on your way to the altar with that halfwit cousin of yours!"

"Well, at least it would have been by my own choice!" she cried, indignant.

He faltered at that. Could she really mean it? That she would rather have married that simpering, pompous fool than himself? Was she _completely_ out of her mind?

"You cannot honestly mean that!"

"Oh, I most _certainly_ can! Did you expect me to rejoice in your unwanted attentions? To congratulate myself on the hope of winning a husband who made it so obvious that he thought myself and everything I hold dear so decidedly beneath him? From the very beginning – from the first moment, I may almost say – of my acquaintance with you, your manners have impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others!"

This was too much. The woman hated him! All composure lost, Darcy was nearly shouting when he made his answer:

"Well, I thank you for explaining so fully! One might, in light of these revelations, wonder why you decided to go along with my lie? But it is of no importance."

All of a sudden, her shoulders slumped and her face crumpled, the anger momentarily replaced by the familiar sadness. Despite his heated state, his first impulse at the sight of her distress was to step forward and embrace her. Bloody enchanting woman, to damnation with her! He clenched his fists and willed his feet not to move when she made her reply, her voice faltering:

"I- I do not know. I was so distraught with the thought that my father might be dying that I could barely think straight and then Mama as good as declared that I was engaged to my cousin. And then _you_ stood up and started spurting out nonsense about us being engaged and I, well, I panicked. I thought how it would look if I were to deny it and, well, just imagine the rumours there would have been!"

He realized her voice was starting to rise again, anger taking over sadness.

"You know the dire situation my family is in, especially in light of recent events! If we wish to have any sort of permanent security after my father passes away, one of us will have to marry well. Do you think that even Mr. Collins would have had me after there were rumours afoot that I had been secretly engaged to another man for God knows how long? I had to say yes! You left me with me no other alternative!"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Darcy felt a tinge of shame. Had he really coerced her? He had thought that he was doing her a grand favour, but had he been mistaken? But her next words put these thoughts out of his mind as soon as they had entered:

"By the time I came to talk to you in the library and you all but attacked me, I knew I had been mistaken! I would rather be publicly humiliated than have people believe for a second that I was engaged to such a-" she hesitated, looking for a suitable word, "such a _rake!"_

"_Attacked_ you?" By now, all feelings of shame were long forgot and Darcy's blood was all but boiling. "Attacked you indeed! You enjoyed it as much as I did, just admit it! You only attempted to push me away when you realized someone was coming!"

Elizabeth looked appalled, her cheeks bright red. "I did no such thing! I would just as soon kiss one of my father's boars!"

Darcy felt so angry he thought his head might burst. Insufferable woman! He had done nothing but tried to help her. How could she spin every single thing he did or said to look like a worst sort of abomination? He was Fitzwilliam Darcy of the Pemberley Darcys, he did not need to listen to this! Stepping forward, he took her by the arms, and drew her so close that her face was but a few inches from his. God but she smelled good. His voice was dangerously low and she seemed momentarily stunned as he spoke:

"Now listen to me. Despite what you seem to think, I _am_ a man of honour_. _And if what you say is true, if your sisters really are so little to be trusted that you expect them to spread gossip about a member of their own family, then I do not really see that we have a choice. You have made it perfectly clear that you do not wish it, but I believe we must marry, and marry soon. I will not tolerate a scandal if it is in my power to prevent it! And Elizabeth, I..."

As he spoke, he had unconsciously leaned a little closer to her and that seemed to trigger her out of her stupor. Before he could finish the sentence, she hissed:

"I do not recall giving you leave to call me Elizabeth! And do not _dare_ to try and kiss me again!"

Enough. Enough already. Darcy let go of her hands and, his face still a mere breath away from hers, replied in a heated growl:

"Do not trouble yourself with that thought, madam. I would not kiss you even should you wish it!"

With that, he turned his back to her and stormed away angrily, not bothering to look back. Had he looked, he would have seen Elizabeth, her mouth in a round 'O', looking at his receding back, the anger on her face replaced by confusion. Or maybe something else entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

_author's note: thank you for the reviews on the previous chapter. you're lovely. again i think i might have grown myself a few grey hairs writing this chapter, on some days writing just seems so much harder than on others. but anyway, here comes part four in which things are again discussed and darcy suffers more mood swings than a prima donna with a bad case of pms.._

**Part 4**

Later, Darcy paced angrily about his bedchamber. How could he have made such an enormous lapse of judgment? How could he have let himself to be so blinded by a passing fancy for a woman? But Elizabeth was no passing fancy, even in his angered state he had to admit that. He could not say exactly what she was, but she certainly had the most unsettling habit of making him act in such unexpected ways that he barely recognized himself. It seemed that these days, every time he was in her company, he lost control over himself, in one manner or another. Deuced woman!

He had always taken pride in his rationality and good judgment. He had always thought himself able to look at every situation objectively and to make decisions that were guided by reason rather than the whims of his heart. Hell, until a few weeks ago, he had not even known that his heart was capable of any sort of whims. Moreover, he had always been known to be honest to a fault, yet here he was, tangled in a web of lies he himself had woven.

It was with a feeling of growing remorse that he took in the situation in which he suddenly found himself. He would have to marry Elizabeth, of that he had no doubt. It was true that he had compromised her and his sense of honour would allow for now other solution. Should he try and make his escape from the situation now, his own reputation would probably not be damaged overmuch. But to Elizabeth and her sisters the consequences could be devastating. No, he could not do that to her, even if the only alternative course was to force her into a marriage she did not wish.

The thought made him miserable. The happy images of Elizabeth's laughter filling the hallways of his home were replaced by bleak and desolate ones where they would spend the rest of their days chained together against their will. She would grow bitter, the light disappearing from her eyes and he would never know the felicity of a happy marriage. And then his indignation rose once again. How could she not see him for the man he was? What was it that she had said? _Your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others._ He was nothing like that, to be sure! Perhaps a bit reserved, but who would not be in the company of strangers? Conceited? Arrogant? Certainly not! If he did think himself a cut above Elizabeth's relations and Bingley's other neighbours, it was only natural and just. Admitting it did not make him conceited, did it?

His thoughts were interrupted by a quick knock on the door. Without waiting to be asked, Bingley marched in, an uncharacteristically exasperated look on his face.

"Finally I have found you! By Jove, Darcy, if I did not know better I would think you have been hiding from me!"

"Bingley." Darcy replied evenly, prefering not to admit that he had been doing just that. Bingley seemed unusually agitated and he did not know what to make of it.

"Now out with it, man! What is this talk about your engagement to Miss Elizabeth? And do not tell me it is true that you have been secretly engaged, for I did not believe _that_ ridiculous fabrication for one minute!"

Darcy, taken aback by the vehemence of his usually docile friend, took a moment to reply.

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh, do not be obtuse, it does not suit you! Miss Elizabeth cannot stand the sight of you, anyone with eyes can see that! And it is no wonder, after how you have behaved since we arrived here! Did you think for a moment that I would believe it that the two of you are suddenly engaged? I wonder that her family did, I would have thought that anyone would have seen right through such a blatant..."

Darcy swallowed audibly and Bingley stopped mid-sentence, no doubt realizing that his friend's face had grown several shades paler in a matter of moments. Feeling suddenly nauseous, Darcy could barely ask:

"You- you knew she disliked me?"

"How could I not? I do not think that, save for yesterday morning, I have ever seen you and Miss Elizabeth agree on anything! You are always arguing and..." Darcy watched as realization slowly dawned on his friend's face. "Good God, Darcy, do not tell me you did not know?"

Darcy said nothing but the answer was written all over his face. How was it that he had completely managed to ignore something that was apparently plainly there for everyone else to see? He, who had always prided himself to be an astute observer of other people's characters? Suddenly, Darcy thought of Miss Bennet and the advice he had been planning on giving to Bingley before everything began. Was it possible that he had been wrong there as well? He had obviously throroughly misinterpreted the behaviour of one sister, was it possible that he had been mistaken with the other as well? He felt ashamed. Who was he to decide what was best for his friend when it was painstakingly obvious that he did not even know what was best for himself?

"But your alarming lack of observational skills aside," Bingley continued, ignoring the glare his friend shot at him, "I still do not understand what made you act like you did? I mean, it is obvious you have been paying a great deal more attention to her than is your usual wont," Darcy cringed. When had Bingley become so observant? "But we both know how poorly you think of her family. I mean, you did not even find them suitable enough for _me_, so I hardly thought you would ever even consider connecting yourself to them!"

What? This was too much! Had Bingley suddenly become a mindreader? Darcy tried to interrupt, but Bingley just waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and continued:

"Oh, not to worry, I know _all_ about your plans to separate me from Miss Bennet. Caroline told me yesterday, when she was desperately trying to convince me that we should all leave for London immediately. Quite frankly, old man, I am disappointed with you. But I can see how you could, in your twisted idea of caring, have been thinking that you were only acting in my best interest, so I suppose I will have to forgive you eventually," Bingley was smirking and Darcy could tell his friend was enjoying the situation rather too much for his liking. "But I still cannot fathom, what made you do it?"

Darcy felt utterly mortified. He had thought he had been conducting himself so surreptitiously, yet Bingley seemed to have seen right through him. And _h__e_ was supposed to be the one to offer guidance to his friend, not the other way around! But Bingley deserved an answer so he grumbled reluctantly:

"I do not know."

And then, unexpectedly, it felt like some floodgate opened up inside him and he heard himself confessing the whole sordid tale to his friend, starting from the odd attraction he had felt to Elizabeth almost from the first moments of their acquaintance – Bingley snorted there, reminding him of the fact that on that first night at the assembly he had declared her to be no more than tolerable – trying to explain the sudden desperation that had come over him when Mrs. Bennet had announced Elizabeth's supposed engagement to her cousin and ending to the horrible row they had had just a few hours before. Darcy had always been a private man by nature and was surprised to discover the relief that came from sharing his troubles with a friendly ear. But what Bingley had to say after he had disclosed all was far from relieving:

"Well I say, Darcy, who would have thought that you would fall in love with Elizabeth Bennet!"

In love? Most definitely not! Darcy was adamant in his refusal of such nonsensical conclusions but later, when Bingley had left him, the thought continued to pester him. He was obviously mightily attracted to her. But in love? With a woman who had declared that she would rather be publicly humiliated than have people think she was in any way connected to him? He certainly hoped not.

But his talk with Bingley would not leave him alone. What had his friend said? _Miss Elizabeth cannot stand the sight of you, anyone with eyes can see that. And it is no wonder, after how you have behaved since we arrived here. _Was it true? Had he really behaved so poorly? Elizabeth certainly seemed to think so. He thought about the night of the assembly and the unfortunate comments he had made there. Was it possible that she had heard him? It would explain the groundwork to her opinions of him but was it not a bit unreasonable that she would have managed to build such an immoveable dislike as she seemed to possess towards him, merely based on a few imprudent words?

It most assuredly was. Darcy growled. Insufferable woman! And even more insufferable was how much he wanted her despite everything! There mere thought of her face, inches from his, her eyes flashing in anger, filled his head with all sorts of unwanted, inappropriate images. Darcy muttered a few choice curses. She had told him not to kiss her and he had promised her that he would not do so even should she wish it. But he was going to make damn sure that she would live to regret those words! He would marry her and show her how wrong she had been about him. When he was finished with her, Elizabeth Bennet would beg on her knees for him to kiss her!

But first he would talk to her father. He could only imagine how upset _that_ gentleman would be with him, after everything that Elizabeth undoubtedly had told him. But if he knew what was best for his daughter, he would have to agree that marriage was the only option, despite what Elizabeth might have said. Undoubtedly, Mr. Bennet would be furious with him for having compromised his daughter, but Darcy was confident that it was nothing he could not handle. Determined, he got out of his room and walked to the door of the guestroom Elizabeth's father was residing in. Hoping he would find the gentleman alone, he swiftly knocked on the door. When he entered, he was met by a pair of curious eyes.

"Mr. Darcy. I was wondering when you would honour me with your presence."

Darcy felt suddenly uncomfortable. Was the old man teasing him? With a carefully composed expression, he bowed his head a little.

"Mr. Bennet."

"There, there," Mr. Bennet replied, amusement twinkling in his eyes, "I can see I have not entirely lost my wits, despite what my wife seems to think. You are just as grave as I remembered you. With the way my wife has been going on about how besotted you are with my Lizzy, one would have thought that my memories concerning your person would have been entirely inaccurate."

Darcy adjusted his neckcloth uneasily. Indeed, he was being teased. And he did not like it one bit.

"Sir, I believe we need to discuss the situation between myself and your daughter."

To Darcy's surprise, Mr. Bennet chuckled.

"Oh yes, the situation. Are you having second thoughts, young man? I would not blame you, for you are about to have the silliest mother-in-law in all of England."

What? What was the man talking about? And how could he say such a thing about his own wife? Not that he disagreed. Unsure of where the discussion was headed, Darcy replied curtly:

"No, sir. I am not."

"There now, no need to be offended. I know it seems very untoward of me to have entirely forgot our earlier conversation about the matter, but you have nothing to worry about. Elizabeth has explained everything to me."

Darcy bit his lip to keep his jaw from dropping. This was not going at all how he had expected. What on Earth had Elizabeth said to her father? Mr. Bennet seemed not to notice his confusion, for he continued as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"I am a little miffed about the scene in the library, of course, but I do still remember – albeit very distantly – what it was like to be a young man wildly in love, so I do not blame you overmuch. Just try to control your ardour until after the wedding, if you can? I am sure it will not be too long a wait, I assume you would prefer a short engagement?"

Darcy cleared his throat, completely taken aback by the turn the conversation had taken. A young man wildly in love?

"Yes, sir, a short engagement would indeed be preferable to me. But do you not think that your daughter..."

"Oh, not to worry, sir. My Elizabeth is much less prone to care about the fineries of life than most girls her age, a simple wedding will do. I believe a month would be more than enough for the arrangements to be made. Her mother on the other hand..."

Darcy swallowed. A month. In a month he would be married. The thought did not seem nearly as daunting as he had expected. Sure, his future wife despised the sight of him, but he was determined to change that.

"A month would do admirably."

And there it was, it was done. In a little more than four weeks he and Elizabeth would be married. Only time would tell what would become of it.

Darcy noticed that Mr. Bennet looked very tired all of a sudden.

"Forgive me, sir, I have taken too much of your time. You must rest, I will leave you now."

"Oh, not to worry, it is nothing like that." The older man smiled but this time Darcy could not detect any signs of mirth. "You must forgive me, I am an old man and extremely set in my ways. Though I knew it would happen eventually, I must confess I am loathe to part with my favourite daughter."

Darcy was a little perplexed. He would have imagined that any father would be thrilled to marry his daughter off to a man of his standing, let alone someone in Mr. Bennet's position. Yet the old man seemed genuinely unhappy.

"I assure you, sir, your daughter will be well taken care of, she will never want for nothing."

"Yes, yes. But as I said before, my Elizabeth was never one to concern herself with the material side of life. I am sure she would have been happy to marry you even had you not a penny in your pocket. Although I must admit, I _was_ surprised to hear her profess her attachment to you," Here Darcy blanched, momentarily sure that the older man was indeed out of his wits. "for I had been rather convinced that if anything, she disliked you exceedingly. But I suppose I am not the best judge of a young woman's heart. Indeed, she has convinced me of your mutual affection, so you see, I am not worried that my daughter will not be loved and taken care of as she ought to. I could not have parted with her if I was. I am, selfish that I am, merely sad to lose her company."

Darcy looked at Elizabeth's father carefully. Here seemed to be a man genuinely disinterested in the fact that his daughter would be marrying one of the most sought-after bachelors in the country. He did not want for Darcy's fortune. He did not care about the prestige of his name. He merely wished for someone who could make his daughter happy. His favourite daughter.

Darcy did not know what to say. He fervently hoped that Mr. Bennet would never know what Elizabeth really thought of her suitor. The old man was trusting him with the happiness of his daughter. It suddenly seemed very important that he should live up to that trust.


	5. Chapter 5

_author's note: as always, a huge thanks for your reviews:) whenever i start losing faith in this thing, i open the reviews section and go back to the encouraging words you've left me, they're truly appreciated! as we speak, the us hockey team is kicking my little country's butt in vancouver and i wanted to post something to get my mind off the stupid hockey game, so i decided to ditch my plans of writing a longer chapter this time and just put this out there, as i thought that it worked just fine as it is, though i had some plans of continuing. but anyway, on with the story..._

**Part 5**

When Darcy next met with Elizabeth, it was not under the circumstances he had hoped for. As soon as he had left Mr. Bennet, he had gone in search of her, hoping to find her in a secluded enough setting to have at least some private discourse before the hour of dinner. He was desperate to find out what she had told her father and well aware that if no one other than Bingley was yet privy to their lie, they would need to sort certain things out before they were next seen together. Alas, it was not to be. Elizabeth seemed to have disappeared off the face of the Earth, only to show herself again in the drawing room a few minutes before dinner was announced.

Darcy was standing in front of one of the large windows that were facing the gardens. His eyes were fixed on the spot where he and Elizabeth had met early that morning. He contemplated what had been said and for the hundredth time that day tried to figure out how the same woman who had declared that she would rather lock lips with a boar than himself could have convinced an old and, as far as Darcy was able to decipher, a rather shrewd man that she and Darcy were in love and expecting a long and happy life together. And, more importantly than how, he wished to know why.

His thoughts were interrupted by a female voice, but not the one he wished to hear.

"I can guess the subject of your reverie."

Miss Bingley. He had wondered how long he could escape that lady's entreaties. He tried to keep his tone as disinterested as possible, not a difficult feat by any means considering whom he was talking with:

"I should think not."

"You are considering how insupportable it will be to pass many evenings in this manner – in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise – the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all these people! I am convinced that a few more evenings like this will have you quite convinced of the unsuitability of your intended."

Darcy felt like cringing but tried to keep his expression solemn. How crude his own opinions about Elizabeth's family sounded when coming out of the mouth of Miss Bingley. He had always detested her vanity and was startled to realize that at least in this matter, he himself had acted no better.

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure it will be to have Miss Elizabeth Bennet as my wife."

A fat lie, of course, but definitely worth the sight of Miss Bingley's bony face crinkling in distaste. Her voice was pinched when she replied:

"Very well then, I can see that you are set on going through with this ridiculousness. I will offer you my congratulations and my best wishes for your future felicity." Here she looked pointedly at Elizabeth's relations scattered around the room. "You will be having a charming mother-in-law, indeed; and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with you."

Darcy was saved from replying by the arrival of the woman who had occupied his thoughts all day long. Elizabeth stood in the doorway, hesitant, all eyes in the room fixed on her person. Darcy was suddenly so nervous he did not know how to act. He clasped his hands behind his back and unclasped them almost immediately. He raked his hand through his hair and adjusted his neckcloth. The moment seemed to go on interminably. And then, Elizabeth turned and locked her eyes on his, walking towards him. The look in her eyes was unreadable and for a terrible moment Darcy thought that she might slap him in the face and declare the truth of their situation for all and sundry to hear. But she did no such thing.

Instead, she gave him a little smile and wished him a good evening. He stood, stupefied, the words caught in his throat. What was she about? He was further flustered when she leaned a little towards him and whispered:

"I believe, sir, that it is customary for you to offer a reply of some sort."

Realizing that the eyes of the room were on them and that Miss Bingley, still standing close to them, was paying particularly keen attention to the scene unfolding, Darcy bowed stiffly and, in a daring move, caught Elizabeth's hand and pressed a light kiss upon it.

"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth."

It was her turn to look flustered and he took pleasure in the fact that a light blush was covering her cheeks. But as soon as the curiosity of the other occupants of the room waned and they went back to their previous pursuits, Elizabeth took a cautious step back and her eyes went cold and, in a voice so low he could barely hear it, she whispered:

"Do not for a moment think that I have changed my mind about you. But I concede your point: This farce has gone to such lengths that it is necessary for us to marry. What a happy couple we shall make, do you not think?"

A chill ran down his spine, the look she was giving him was venomous. Was it too much to hope that he could change her mind? And if it was, was it her fault or his? He had started the day convinced that if she hated him, it was only because she did not really know him. Now he was not so sure. Perhaps Bingley was right, perhaps he had acted appallingly ever since he came to Hertfordshire? He was startled from his thoughts when she suddenly leaned closer again, smilingly, touching his arm ever so slightly.

"Try not to look so gloomy, you are to be married after all."

He was flabbergasted by her sudden change of mood until he realized that Miss Bingley was watching them again, as were Bingley and Miss Bennet. He noticed with chagrin that Bingley rolled his eyes before he looked away. It took him a moment to compose himself and he felt far too aware of how close to him Elizabeth was standing and how the light, familiar smell of rosewater was wafting through the air. It was suddenly all too clear what her game was, and he wondered that he had not realized it before: Elizabeth was keeping up appearances. She had reconciled herself to the fact that they were to marry and, despite her distaste of his person, was trying to conceal the true state of their relationship from general knowledge.

It all suited with the idea he had of her character. She obviously cared a great deal of her family, he had learned that much when she had earlier been in Netherfield taking care of Miss Bennet. And the way she had always watched over her father was further proof of that. He imagined that this charade was just another display of that protectiveness.

He felt fairly sure that Mrs. Bennet and the younger Miss Bennets would not have cared two straws if they had known the truth of the matter, but he had recently come to realize that Mr. Bennet and Miss Bennet were another matter entirely. He could only imagine the heartbreak of Elizabeth's father if he were to discover how little happiness his daughter was expecting from her future life. Darcy felt a pang of regret when this thought entered his head but he quickly shook it off. He _would_ make her happy. It might just take a little longer than he first thought.

Another, more pleasant thought struck him suddenly: This new turn of events might actually work in his favour. If Elizabeth was determined to keep her family in the dark and act the blushing bride when they were in company, well he could certainly return the favour. He would be as charming as he possibly could, surely she could not resist him for too long. Could she?

When the bell rang for dinner, he gave her a dazzling smile and offered to escort her to the table. While Elizabeth's mother seemed delighted with the attentions he was paying her daughter, Elizabeth herself looked decidedly alarmed. Catching her arm and placing it atop his own, he leaned close to her ear and whispered:

"Try not to look so gloomy, dearest, you are to be married after all."

The glare she gave him mad him glad that looks had not the power to kill, but he convinced himself that the shiver he had felt when he took her arm had little to do with her dislike of him and lot to do with the same sort of jolts he felt whenever he touched her.

The dinner was a stilted affair but Darcy noticed little of it, too preoccupied by the fidgeting lady next to him. Miss Bingley, completely neglecting her role as the hostess, wore a perpetual scowl and said little. Mr. Collins, who for some unfathomable reason had not left though he had declared himself determined to do just that the day before, kept making unveiled hints about how much his noble patroness would disapprove of an union between his cousin and Darcy and how Elizabeth should not aspire to marry so much above herself. Bingley was too busy mooning over Miss Bennet to notice that anything was amiss and that he perhaps should try to rectify the situation.

But Darcy did not see all this for he had other things in his mind. He was determinedly trying to engage Elizabeth in some manner of conversation but she seemed equally determined to avoid it. Instead she was talking to Mr. Hurst of all people, making an impressive show of pretending to be interested in duck hunting and the differences between barrel-aged ports and bottle-aged ports. Darcy was convinced that she was no more curious about these things than he was about laces or embroidery. He was irritated. She could not honestly enjoy conversing with Bingley's tiresome brother-in-law better than talking to him. By the time they got to fishing, Darcy felt his head might surely explode at any moment. Something had to be done.

It was a cheap trick and he knew it the moment he stooped to it. But he had no doubt that engaging Mrs. Bennet in conversation was the quickest way to garner Elizabeth's attention. And he was correct: From the corner of his eye he saw her head turning as soon as he addressed her mother. They were not five sentences into conversation when she interrupted them.

"Indeed, sir, we are quite fond of Sir William and his family. They are great friends of ours. Sir William is such a man of fashion, so genteel and easy, and his wife is a most agreeable woman. It is a pity that their daughters are not more handsome..."

"Mama!" Elizabeth cried, just as Darcy had anticipated. He kept his eyes steadily away from her when he made his reply:

"Charlotte Lucas seems like a very pleasant young woman." Darcy kept his voice politely even, trying not to appear overtly interested though he was purposely baiting for a certain kind of reply. Mrs. Bennet did not disappoint:

"Oh dear, yes; but you _must_ own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane—one does not often see anybody better looking. And," remembering whom she was talking with, she added hastily "my Lizzy is quite handsome as well. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When Jane was only fifteen, there was a man at my brother Gardiner's in town so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were."

"And so ended his affection," said Elizabeth impatiently and Darcy was surprised by the feel of her hand on his arm, as if she was trying to turn him away from the conversation. It was just as he had planned: Elizabeth, desperate to turn the attention away from her mother before she said something that would embarrass the room in general, had no other choice than to engage his attention to herself as best she could. It suited him perfectly. He listened with rapt attention when she continued, the colour of her lovely cheeks again heightened:

"There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!"

How very like Elizabeth to say something like that.

"I have been used to consider poetry as the _food_ of love." There. Let us see what she would have to say about that.

She looked at him for a moment, with a quizzical raise of her brow, before replying:

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination," and here she looked him directly in the eye, "I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

Perfect. The conversation was momentarily interrupted when dessert was served and Darcy stole a quick glance around the table to make sure that everyone was focused on their plates instead of him and Elizabeth. And then, in his boldest move yet, he moved his hand on the table to cover hers and whispered in a low voice so only she could hear:

"What would you recommend then, to encourage affection?"

He felt the familiar tingling feeling when his hand touched hers and was gratified by the fact that she did not pull her hand away immediately even though he was fairly sure no one was watching them. For a fraction of a second he thought that this was it, Elizabeth was giving in to him, but then her eyes narrowed into an unfortunately familiar expression and she replied in a scathing tone:

"Honesty. Even if one is barely familiar with the meaning of the word."

Darcy watched, crestfallen, as she got up from her seat, pleaded a headache and left the room. Long after she was gone, his eyes were still on the door she had closed behind her. She was gone, again. His hand still tingled from her touch. So much for his irresistible charm.


	6. Chapter 6

_author's note: good god, i've finished another chapter already, i bet you didn't see this one coming:) i've had a lazy weekend, plenty of time to write, the next update is quite definitely not coming as soon as this one. as someone might have noticed, i tweaked the blurb of the story a bit, as i realized that there was beginning to be rather more angst here than i had anticipated. but not to worry, i'm sure they'll work it out eventually, don't they always? a million thanks for your reviews, you rock! and please keep them coming because they're the thing that keeps me going. and it's a fair exchange, no? i write you a story and you write me a review:) but enough of my blabbing and on with the angst, i mean, the story..._

**Part 6**

Darcy did not sleep a wink that night. Honesty? Honesty! How could she say such a thing after how livid she had been when he had, in the name of that very word, admitted his scruples about their relationship? He was a man of sense and education, yet the whole situation with Elizabeth seemed to be utterly beyond his comprehension. What had he done to deserve the insurmountable hatred she seemed to be harbouring against him?

Bingley had pointed out to him that he had not been on his best behaviour while in Hertfordshire and Elizabeth had been furious with him for his condescending attitude towards her family. Though he was hard-pressed to admit it, he had to concede that they might have been right. He still considered himself a tad above the company they had been keeping recently, but no matter what he thought of Elizabeth's relations and neighbours, surely he had been raised better than to display his disdain for everyone to see? He should have attempted to be more polite. More considerate of her feelings.

That brought another notion to his mind. Elizabeth had accused him of coercing her into marrying him. He had realized how officious his attempts to direct Bingley's life had been. Elizabeth seemed a woman prone to independence. Was it any surprise that she did not take to his making decisions for her any better than his friend did? The thought had been nagging in the back of his head ever since he made his "proposal" and now he finally allowed himself to think on it properly. Was that it? Was she so mad because he had not asked her first? He had thought he had been doing her a favour, he still thought so, but would his favour have been better received if he had consulted her first? Asked her permission to save her from destitution or from the clutches of that ghastly cousin of hers?

He had no doubt that it would have. But there had been no time! If he had not said anything when he did, the good ladies of Meryton would have left the house and spread the news of Elizabeth's engagement all over. Of course, then Mr. Bennet had woken up and she had no longer had such a pressing need to marry and she could possibly have broken the engagement. But he could not have known that that was about to happen, could he? No. And he would _never_ have kissed her in the library if he had not thought that they were to marry. Yes, he had compromised her, but it had not been his intention. And he most certainly had not _attacked _her!

So yes, he could see there were a lot of things he could have done differently. _Should_ have done differently. He could see how she might have grown to dislike him enough not to see him for what he was: A man in love. For in love he was, it felt suddenly very clear. Why else would he still be struggling to win her acceptance? The thought was sobering. Elizabeth aggravated him, enraged him even, made him want to bang his head against a solid stone wall. But still, he could no longer imagine a life without her. Every time he touched her, he felt more alive than he had ever before. Every time he saw her, he felt like he could watch her for the rest of his life and never be bored. Even when he was angry with her, he desired her with such power he felt sure it would be his undoing. He had to have her. And he had to make her love him too.

But she hated him. And for the life of him he could not understand why. Dislike him, sure, that would be understandable. _That_ would be something he could work to fix. Though he was rarely in the habit of making apologies, he could apologize to her. Explain to her why he had acted the way he had. But hate, that was another thing entirely. He could not work on that. Especially not when he had no idea what had caused it. There had to bee something more here, some piece of information missing. Something she held against him but had yet to throw at his face. Something enormous. But what on Earth could it be?

Darcy got up at the brink of dawn. If sleep was not to come, what point was there to lay there waiting for it? He dressed himself instead of calling for his valet, got out of his room and headed for the library. He would sit there for a few hours, read something to distract himself and as soon as she was awake, he would find Elizabeth and ask her to walk with him a little. They needed to talk. Not argue, as they had so far, but talk.

Unexpectedly, he found the library already occupied. It was her. She was not reading though, but absentmindedly staring out of a window. When she turned her head at the sound of someone entering, he could see the red in her eyes. She had been crying. He felt the instant pull to comfort her but did nothing. She did not want his comfort. Not yet, in any case.

"Good morning, madam."

She said nothing and he felt unsure as to how to proceed. He closed the door to prevent a passing servant from hearing anything, and took a few steps towards her.

"You have been crying?" It was more a statement than a question.

Her chin jutted out as she replied:

"Yes."

"Because of me?" He could not bare it if she said yes. She did.

"Yes."

Before he knew it, he was kneeling next to the chair she was in.

"Elizabeth..." the steel in her gaze made him correct himself, "Miss Bennet, forgive me. I would not have you cry on my behalf. It seems I have made a grave error, a misjudgment of a most serious kind. It is my wish to explain myself to you, to..." he hesitated for a moment, "to apologize. Would you do me the honour of hearing me out? And, if I may, there is something I would like to ask you."

She did not reply right away and he waited, his heart beating in an irregular rhythm. Finally, she said in a cool voice:

"Very well, I will hear you. Though I find it hard to imagine what you could possibly have to say for yourself."

He found it difficult to concentrate at such a close proximity to her, so he got up and started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. Finally, he came to a halt a little way from her and forced himself to open his mouth before his courage failed him. She had wanted honesty. He would give her honesty.

He cleared his throat and began:

"When I first came to Hertfordshire, I was determined not to enjoy myself. There had been an- an incident the previous summer that had left me in a most unpleasant mood and I had yet to overcome it. I realize now I would have done better to hide it when in company but at the moment I cared little of the impression I would make while visiting here. After all, I was only a passing guest in this neighbourhood and had no expectations of making new acquaintances that would last after I left. I certainly had not thought of _marrying_ anyone."

Here she raised her eyebrows, but said nothing so he continued.

"When Bingley suggested we attend the assembly shortly after we arrived, I was little inclined to join him but decided to do so anyway because I thought it would please him. I promise you that when he suggested I dance with you, I had not so much as really looked at you when I... declined his suggestion. I was merely in a foul mood and had no wish to dance with a stranger. It has been quite some time now that I have considered you the most beautiful woman I have ever met."

He looked at her earnestly, willing her to see the truth in his words. She blushed and averted her gaze. Good enough.

"As I have stated before, I was none too pleased to find myself attracted to you. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty, and it was this, my mistaken pride, that led me to believe that you were not worthy of my attentions, that by offering to you I would be demeaning myself, disgracing my name. I believed that in an union between the two of us I was the one who had everything to lose and you the one who would gain from it. I could not have been more wrong and I am sorry for it. I was so used to being sought after, hunted even, by most all of the young women of my acquaintance. It was not until after I talked to your father that I realized how little you cared for my wealth, my position in the society."

She looked at him then, with unreadable eyes.

"You spoke to my father?"

"I did. Yesterday."

"Strange, he did not mention it to me. Pray tell, how much did you reveal to him about the situation between the two of us?"

He could hear the anxiety in her voice even though she was clearly trying to cover it. At least in this one thing he could offer her some consolation.

"Nothing at all. He seemed to be of the idea that you were glad to enter this marriage and I saw no reason to correct his assumptions. He seemed so... happy."

She looked relieved. He had been right, she was trying to protect her father from the unhappy truth.

"The more time I spent with you, the more drawn to you I felt. I did my best to conceal it, but at least according to Bingley, I did a poor job of it. I must confess, I even considered leaving Hertfordshire to escape your influence, but after what happened to your father, I simply did not have it in me to leave you."

"Oh yes, I know all about your plans to leave Hertfordshire and take Mr. Bingley with you. Miss Bingley was most generous to share information about your plans yesterday."

To damnation with Caroline Bingley and her big, unattractive mouth! Did her malice know no bounds? He would strangle her the first chance he got! Was this the reason Elizabeth was so angry with him? But it could not be, he assumed she had only spoken with Miss Bingley _after_ their argument in the garden. There had to be something else.

Trying to concentrate on the task at hand, he continued his explanation.

"I would have you understand something: I never intended to hurt you with what I did. You must find it hard to believe but I sincerely thought that I was helping you. You called me conceited and I am now of the opinion that you might have been right. I told my lie without a doubt of my reception. I was convinced that, given the opportunity, any woman would jump at the chance of marrying me, no matter the circumstances. Though I could not appreciate it at first, by you I was properly humbled. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased."

Darcy paused to see how his words were affecting her. He was surprised to detect no signs of her former anger. If anything, she seemed confused. His heart swelled. _Confused_ he could manage. He took a few cautious steps towards her and, as she did not seem to be about to protest, he reclaimed his place kneeling next to her. She looked in wonder as he caught her hands in his and did not attempt to pull them away.

"But- I thought you did not like me." She looked puzzled and her words were quiet, as if she was rather pondering them herself than expecting any answer from him, so he said nothing.

"You... you were always staring at me to find fault, always arguing with me over everything I said. How was I supposed to..."

He had to interrupt.

"To find fault! Heavens no! Can you not see? I was looking at you because I quite simply could not look anywhere else. You are luminous. Bewitching. I could not have looked away even if I had wanted to!"

Darcy felt his face flushing in embarrassment at carrying away so. He had every intent to be honest about his feelings, but this was beginning to be rather too much honesty for his taste. What if she turned him away again? He could already see how his words could turn against him. He was giving her too much control over his heart. But then, did she not have it already, no matter what he said?

Her eyes were brimming with tears again. There was a long pause and when she finally spoke, her voice was tight with distress:

"I... this is too much, I do not know what to think! I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly!"

Different accounts? Sensing he was on the brink of discovering what it was that she had been keeping from him, Darcy said nothing, but kept his hold of her hands and looked at her expectantly. Thoughts raced through his head but nothing could have prepared him for what she said next, in a calm voice that belied the gravity of the words coming out of her mouth:

"It is not merely the things you have stated just now, on which my dislike of you is founded. I can see that, according to what you have told me, I might have misjudged you on some accounts. But it was long before you made your officious _proposal_, before I discovered your plans of separating my sister and your friend, that your character was unfolded to me in the recital I received from Mr. Wickham."

Wickham? Darcy felt his blood turn cold. He eyed Elizabeth in disbelief as she continued:

"On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of kindness can you here defend yourself? Can you see why I am having trouble believing in the honesty of your actions?"

It took all the self-control Darcy could muster not to shout out his next words. He felt his mouth turn dry and his eyesight blind with rage. Wickham! His voice was tight and formal when he replied:

"Yes, madam. I can see perfectly. You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns?"

"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?"

This was too much. Too much. He could not believe it!

"His misfortunes!" he repeated, his voice full of contempt, "yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed!"

His tone seemed to aggravate Elizabeth but in his angered state he could not bring himself to care. He dropped her hands and returned to his pacing, trying to control the rage boiling inside him. Had he not suffered enough in the hands of that cad! Did he have to ruin this for him too! And Elizabeth, how could she have believed anything Wickham had to say? His misfortunes! Oh, he would know misfortunes when he next crossed paths with Darcy!

"And they have been of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty – comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! And yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule."

"And all this," he cried, "you have believed of me without a second thought!"

She seemed momentarily taken aback by his answer. What had she expected? That he apologize for anything he had done to _poor_ Mr. Wickham? No, if this was her opinion of him, he was done apologizing! But she, apparently, was not done with him at all.

"Well you have certainly given me no reason not to! And this is not all he told me! He mentioned an incident, last summer, where a young girl of no more than fifteen was involved. He told me that you took the poor girl away from her loved ones and ruined her chances of ever marrying! Do you deny it?"

Darcy stared at the woman before him in utter dismay. His careful plans of winning her over were ashes in his mouth. If she was ready to believe such things about him, what chances of happiness could they possibly ever have together? His heart felt like stone and his voice, quiet now instead of loud and angry, trembled despite his attempts to keep it even when he made his reply:

"I do not deny it. The girl was my sister, Georgiana, and Wickham had convinced her to elope with him in the hopes of getting his hands on my sister's inheritance."

Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise at his answer. He could see the thoughts moving in her head, the anger melting from her expression, replaced by disbelief. Disbelief of what, he did not wish to know. She vacillated for a moment, before getting up from her chair and stepping towards him, her other hand outstretched, as if to reach him.

"Mr. Darcy, I..."

He felt like stepping towards her, even at a moment like this he could feel the pull she had over him, but he could not. Not now. Not like this. He took a step backwards and she halted.

"Enough, madam. You have said quite enough. I do not think I could bear to hear another word from you. I will leave you now, good day."

His feet felt heavy as he turned away from her and left the room. But he had to do it. He had to get away from her. As if in a dream, he saw himself walking to his room, ordering his valet to prepare for his immediate departure. He could scarcely believe how calmly he managed to express himself when he informed Mr. Bennet that he was leaving for London to make some preparations for the marriage and made his excuses to Bingley, promising to return after he had concluded his business in town.

In no more than an hour, he was sitting atop his horse, ready to leave Netherfield behind. As he raced past the house, he could see Elizabeth in one of the second floor windows, her hand pressed against the glass, her eyes full of tears. Or maybe he was just imagining things.


	7. Chapter 7

_author's note: thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews on the previous chapter! i was a little worried about how all that angst would sit with you, but apparently i haven't managed to scare you away with it:) and now, onto part 7 of this story, in which nothing much happens and our hero spends a great deal of time honing his skills in the art of wallowing in self-pity. (btw, i've borrowed a tiny bit from emma in the beginning, not the book though, but the 1996 film, in case anyone notices some familiar turns of phrasing)_

**Part 7**

When Darcy arrived in London he did everything a young man soon to be married ought to do on such occasion. He met with his lawyers to prepare the settlements. He put an announcement into the papers – and would the next day have found himself the chief topic of gossip in all the houses of the ton, had he ever ventured into one. As it was, he knew nothing of it. He informed his staff of his impending marriage and ordered his mother's old rooms to be readied for the new Mistress. Had he paid any attention, he might have been amused at the befuddlement caused by his unexpected announcement among his staff, but he did not and was not. For nothing much could occupy his thoughts these days other than Elizabeth and the things she had accused him of.

He tried not to think of her when his housekeeper asked for his advice as to any changes he wanted to be made for his new wife's chambers. His wife. He tried not to think of her when he went through his mother's jewelry to find a ring for her. His wife. He tried not to think of her when, in the middle of one night, he stomped to the gallery where the family portraits were hung, removed the blasted miniature of Mr. Wickham that had been kept there in honour of his late father's wishes, and threw it into the nearest fireplace after thoroughly maiming it. His wife. His soon-to-be wife Miss Elizabeth Bennet who had disliked him enough to believe him capable of deceiving a man of his rightful inheritance and ruining a young girl of no more than fifteen. As an afterthought, he had spat into the fireplace where the pieces of the miniature lay. And hit his head on the mantelpiece trying to set a fire in the darkness of the night. The bump on his forehead still ached.

And as he tried not to think of her, days passed, turning into a week and then another. Most of this time he spent either in his study or in his library, staring at one wall or another. How could she have believed Wickham over him? Had he really made such a poor impression on her that she had honestly believed him capable of such things? On the seventh day of his absence from Hertfordshire, he received a missive from Bingley. He did not open it. He knew what it would say and he did not wish to hear it. He knew he should have gone back by now, he had given to understand that his business would take no more than a couple of days. But he could not bring himself to leave. To go back to her, to resume the pretense of happiness, seemed impossible.

On the tenth day, he was discovered by his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Darcy was sprawled on a settee in the library, in his shirtsleeves, his hair tousled and a half-empty decanter of brandy keeping him company.

"Darcy! What the bloody hell has happened to you?"

Darcy was roused from his stupor enough to notice he had company.

"Richard. What a p- pleasure to see you."

His cousin stared at him in bewilderment.

"A pleasure!" he cried, "What in Heaven's name is the matter with you? First we get to read from the papers that you are to be married, and then your own Aunt and Uncle are turned away from your house though it is perfectly obvious that you are home – my mother will never forgive you, or your stubborn butler for that matter, though I can see now why he was so reluctant to let anyone in – and now I finally manage to barge in here, only to find you in your cups in the middle of the day like a common drunk!"

Darcy waved his hand irritably and grunted:

"Go away, Richard."

"I will not! Not until you tell me who this Miss Elizabeth Bennet is and what the devil is this talk of you marrying her? The last time I saw you – and it has not been that long, mind you – you never so much as mentioned that you were courting some lady and now I am supposed to believe that you are to be married? And in a little more than two weeks no less? What is the matter with you, have you completely lost your wits?"

Darcy let out a mirthless chuckle.

"I suppose you could say that. I love her."

The words stung him and he reached for the decanter and the numbness it offered. But his cousin was faster, grabbing the brandy and moving it out of his reach.

"I think you have had quite enough for today," the Colonel said, while eyeing his cousin, much amused.

"I say, Darcy, in love! Who would have thought! Seems like all that time spent with Bingley is finally starting to rub on you. But should that not be a happy event? What are you doing here, drowning yourself in brandy, and all alone no less? Should we not be celebrating?"

His mirth died on his lips when he saw Darcy's shoulders slump.

"She does not love me," Darcy said gloomily.

Darcy watched, uninterested, as his cousin tried to put two and two together. Why did he not just leave him alone?

"Darcy..." Richard said slowly, his tone suspicious, "If she does not love you, how is it that the two of you are getting married? Has she trapped you somehow?"

Darcy rolled his eyes.

"Of course not. She- she is not that sort of a woman."

There was a pause and then his cousin's brows suddenly shot up.

"Good God, Darcy! You have not compromised her, have you?"

"I most certainly have not!" Darcy cried, indignant, jumping up from his chair. Which turned out to be a very bad idea, as the room started spinning around him in a monstrous fashion and he staggered on his feet for a moment before collapsing back on the settee. His lids felt suddenly very heavy and he felt nauseous in the extreme. Perhaps Richard had been right about the brandy, after all.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The backrest felt invitingly soft and, completely unbidden, his head was filled with memories of a soft, warm cheek under his palm, soft lips under his... Elizabeth. Where had it been? In the library? Where he had... oh, perhaps Richard deserved the real story. What did it matter now, anyway? He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to let go of the image of _her_, and tried not to slur too much when he spoke:

"T- truthfully, I have compromised her. But it was only _after _I had told to her family and half the village that we had been secretly engaged for quite some time. N- not true, of course."

The last words had barely rolled of his lips when sleep came, soothing, insistent and he did not mind at all. The last thing he heard before he succumbed to the blissful unconsciousness was his cousin bursting into a loud guffaw.

"You did what? Oh, this is too good, Aunt Catherine is going to have a fit!"

On the eleventh day, Darcy woke up with a headache of mammoth proportions. He felt disoriented for a moment, trying to remember what had happened. And then it came back to him. Brandy. Richard. Even the tiniest movements felt excruciating, but he pushed himself up nonetheless. He was embarrassed enough already, it would not do to loiter in bed all morning feeling sorry for himself. But the copious amounts of brandy he had consumed the previous day begged to differ. As soon as he got on his feet, he felt the floor swaying under his feet and had to sit down again. He was just about to give up and crawl back under the sheets when the door burst open and in walked his cousin, looking annoyingly fresh and with an insufferable grin on his face.

"Good morning, cousin!"

"Richard." He winced as his cousin threw the curtains open and light flooded in.

"Enough with the sulking, Darcy. We have a lot to do today and you would do well to clean yourself up. My mother will not appreciate her favourite nephew looking like a ragged drunkard."

"Your mother!" Alarming. Most alarming. His cousin smiled nonchalantly.

"Oh, did I not mention it already? Mother and Father are coming over for dinner. You have some explaining to do, you know."

Darcy groaned.

"Now off with you, I have asked your man to prepare a bath for you and I will be waiting for you downstairs with some breakfast and plenty of strong coffee."

On any other day Darcy would have resented his cousin's overbearing manoeuvres. But he knew Richard was right. Enough was enough. He had spent days on end doing nothing but wallowing in self-pity like some lovesick fool. It would not do. He was a man of sense, a man of reason. It was time to figure out a way to solve this mess.

It turned out his cousin was much more of an expert than himself on dealing with the effects of excessive consumption of brandy – probably because he most likely was much more of an expert when it came to the actual act of consuming it as well. Darcy, under normal circumstances, was not in the habit of drinking overmuch. He was too fastidious to enjoy the loss of control over his faculties. How very fortunate that it had been only Richard to witness his state the previous day and not his Aunt and Uncle. He might never have overcome the embarrassment if _that_ had happened.

Under Richard's orders, Darcy's valet had prepared him an icy cold bath. Darcy detested the idea of stepping into the freezing water and cursed out loud while doing it, but it turned out to be just what he needed. The cold water was balm to his aching head and body and when he finally got out of the bathtub, he felt better already. After a shave – a long overdue one, by the relieved look on his manservant's face – and getting dressed, he ventured downstairs were Richard was, as promised, waiting with a hefty breakfast.

Apart from greeting him and commenting that Darcy was starting to look his old self again, Richard said nothing while Darcy ate, only smirking at him occasionally over the newspaper he was reading. Darcy tried to recall how much he had told Richard the previous day – and wondered how much he should tell him now. In the end, he decided that he might as well tell his cousin everything. Richard, at least, would understand why he was so upset about Elizabeth believing Wickham's lies. And perhaps his cousin might even be able to offer some insight as to how best resolve the situation.

Later, the two men were sitting in Darcy's study, the Colonel, at first much amused by Darcy's description of his time in Hertfordshire, now suitably appalled by the lies Wickham had told, and by the fact that Elizabeth had been so ready to believe them. Richard's latest rant – oh, he should have done away with that scoundrel when he had the chance – was interrupted by the appearance of a footman at the door.

"A Mr. Bingley to see you, sir."

Darcy's brows shot up in surprise but before he had time to say anything, in walked Bingley in his riding clothes, covered in dust, slightly breathless.

"Bingley!" he cried.

"Good day to you too, Darcy," Bingley replied, and then, noticing the Colonel, nodded to him, "Richard."

"What the devil are you doing here? And how did you get in? I specifically told Johnson I was not home for _anyone_ this morning!"

Richard laughed. "I believe you told him the same thing yesterday, and yet, here I am. Perhaps your butler is not quite as adept at keeping people out as my mother thought."

Darcy was miffed by his cousin's quip. Had he so lost his respect in the eyes of his staff in the past few days that they did not even bother to follow his orders? He felt embarrassed. He had acted like a fool and now doubt every single person in the house knew about it. He would have to have a talk with Johnson. If he said he was not home for anyone, then he damn well meant it.

"My apologies, Bingley. You are always welcome in my house. Now if you will just excuse me for a moment, I need to have a word with my butler. Make yourself at home, I will return momentarily."

When he returned, he found his cousin and friend deep in conversation, obviously sharing a laugh at his expense.

"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," cried the Colonel. "I should like to know how he behaves among strangers."

"You shall hear then – but prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time we met most of my new neighbours in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball – and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge, more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner."

The Colonel let out a guffaw. "That certainly sounds a lot like Darcy! I never knew anyone quite so determined to not to enjoy himself at a ball."

"I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my own party." Darcy said, defensively. He was not at all comfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. Enjoying Elizabeth's teasing barbs was one thing. Being the laughing stock of his friends was quite another.

"True," Bingley quipped good-naturedly, "and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball-room. But seriously speaking, you then became quite attached to one lady in particular." Bingley eyed the Colonel for a moment, obviously unsure of how much he should say, until Darcy nodded to let him know that his cousin was already well-acquainted with his situation. "And that is what brings me here. There has been an unexpected turn of events and I thought you should be made aware of it immediately."

Darcy's heart skipped a beat and Bingley hastened to assure him:

"Not to worry, she is fine. Though quite melancholy, I must say, after you left."

Melancholy? Did that mean that she was regretting the things she had said? Or was she simply upset because the date of the wedding was approaching?

"Her family too, seems to have been quite upset by the fact that you have not returned." Bingley continued, pointedly. "Her mother, in particular, has been most vocal about her suspicions that you might be having second thoughts. I believe her constant lamenting has distressed Miss Elizabeth a great deal."

Darcy felt a momentary pang of regret at the thought of Elizabeth being subjected to Mrs. Bennet's laments because of him, but he quickly pushed it aside. Elizabeth had hurt him, most grievously. If she was suffering from the consequences of their argument, could he really be blamed?

"But however much I wish that you would return, Darcy, that is not why I am here today. I received a most unexpected guest last night and, as I believe that she is on her way to visit you as we speak, I thought it best to ride ahead in order to warn you."

Darcy did not need to be told who it was. Aunt Catherine. No doubt that sycophant parson of hers had told her everything in his letter. Darcy only wondered that she had not appeared sooner.

"Are you quite sure she is coming?"

"Oh yes, she was most adamant to find you after her talk with Miss Elizabeth. I believe she would have arrived at your door in the middle of the night if I had not been able to convince her to let her horses rest overnight."

Darcy cringed as he imagined his aunt in the same room with Elizabeth. He felt certain that nothing good could come out of _that_ confrontation. His aunt had probably told Elizabeth her favourite lie about Darcy being engaged to Anne. He wondered if it was humanly possible for Elizabeth to be any more livid at him than she had been before he left?

"I thank you for taking the trouble to come, Bingley. I am certainly not in the mood for Aunt Catherine's antics today. I hope Johnson is more mindful of my orders this time. I have specifically told him that the only people he is to let through my door today are my Uncle and..."

Darcy's words died on his lips as a commotion was heard in the hallway and a rather upset-looking footman stepped in the room.

"A Lady Catherine de Bourgh to see you, sir."

Darcy sighed. "...and my Aunt."


	8. Chapter 8

_author's note: ok, in reply to hopefulro's plea, here comes chapter eight:) i'm sorry that it took slightly longer than usual and that it's slightly shorter than usual, but boy did i have some trouble writing this one. but now it's done, for better or for worse, and i'm hoping the next one will be easier:) much thanks for all your kind words and encouragement, i'm so excited that you're still sticking with me!  
_

**Part 8**

"Fitzwilliam Darcy!" cried Lady Catherine as soon as she stormed in, unceremoniously ignoring the other two occupants in the room – a fact that these two did not mind one bit. "I demand to talk to you at once!"

Darcy clenched his teeth together and tried to keep his countenance stern and unaffected. It would not do to show Aunt Catherine how upset he was. He bowed slightly.

"Good day, Aunt."

"A good day it most certainly is not!" Lady Catherine cried and then, sending a rather murderous glare towards poor Mr. Bingley, continued: "You can be at no loss, nephew, to understand the reason of my journey hither."

Darcy swallowed a sigh, irritated. Had he really been so dense as to judge other people because they had some less than charming relatives? He, who could undoubtedly boast the most ridiculous, overbearing relative in all of England?

"Indeed, you are mistaken, Aunt. I have not been at all able to account for the honour of seeing you here."

"Do not trifle with me, nephew. You know perfectly well why I have come, I can see that your little friend there has wasted no time in coming to inform you of my arrival."

Bingley, by now, was most studiously inspecting a painting on the wall in the far end of the room, trying to distance himself from Darcy's formidable aunt as much as possible. Colonel Fitzwilliam stretched his legs in an armchair in the corner of the room, eagerly anticipating the scene to unfold.

"A report of a most alarming nature has reached me and I have come here to have it universally contradicted!"

"I assume that you are referring to my betrothal to Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"You assume!" Lady Catherine cried, exasperated, "What else could I _possibly_ be referring to?"

Darcy said nothing. He wondered how many footmen it would take to carry his Aunt out of the house. The thought was tempting indeed.

"You must know by now that I first went to Hertfordshire to talk some sense into that insolent girl. To think of it, my nephew engaged to be married to some country miss with no fortune, no connections to recommend herself, it is not to be borne!"

Perhaps he should just carry her out himself? But no, he wished to know how much damage Lady Catherine had managed to cause in her little visit. Perhaps Elizabeth was now of a mind to cancel the wedding altogether? He did not wish for that, did he? No. He could never wish for that.

"I would have thought her to be more reasonable, you know. But she treated me in a most infamous manner. I have never been so horribly offended in my life!"

Darcy felt secretly a little pleased when he imagined the scene. His aunt was used to ordering people around, whether she knew them or not, always accustomed to getting her way. It seemed that in Elizabeth, Lady Catherine had finally met her match. As had he himself, for that matter.

"I explained to her that this match, to which she has the presumption to aspire, can never take place. I told her of your engagement to Anne! You know it was the favourite wish of your mother and should have been properly announced years ago. But she did not believe it, the impudent chit!"

Darcy's brows shot up in astonishment. Elizabeth had not believed her? What could be the meaning of that? She had been so ready to believe the worst of him before. Could it be that her opinion of him had changed for the better?

"Take care, madam, this is my future wife you are talking about."

"Good Heavens, nephew! Enough with this charade! You can not honestly mean to marry that woman! Have you so been blinded by her arts and allurements that you cannot see that she is only after your fortune? I told her that your union would never be accepted by your family or your friends! That she will be censured, slighted and despised by anyone connected to you. I made sure that she understood that this alliance between the two of you would be a disgrace, that her name would never be mentioned by any of your relations. And can you imagine her reply?"

Darcy most definitely could not.

"She said that your wife must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine. Extraordinary sources of happiness! Can you believe it? Is it not obvious that she is after your money, nephew? You must put an end to this madness before it is too late!"

But Darcy was no longer listening. His breath was caught in his throat and his heart as good as stopped. Extraordinary sources of happiness? No cause to repine? She could not have really meant those things, could she? She had just said them to deceive his aunt, much the same way she had tricked her family. And besides, he was mad at her. Furious. How long would it take to reach Netherfield if he left right away?

Realizing that Lady Catherine was still voicing her complaints Darcy tried to gather his thoughts. First, he would have to get rid of his aunt. However tempting the thought of simply having her carried out of the front door, he decided to use a little more tact. His aunt would not appreciate it, but by the time she realized what was happening, it would be too late. Doing his best to sound grave and thoughtful, he said:

"Quite right, madam. Something has to be done about this. I thank you for taking the time to come all this way to acquaint me with the situation. The news you have imparted have indeed been of a most alarming nature. Thank you, Aunt. I shall now know how to act."

Lady Catherine looked stunned for a moment, obviously surprised to have won the argument so easily. But her natural conceit soon took over and, if anyone had asked, she would surely have claimed that she had known all along that her nephew would come to his senses. When, a few minutes later, she was escorted out by Darcy, with an invite to come over for dinner that evening to discuss the matter further, she rejoiced in her victory, her only displeasure stemming from the fact that she would not be there to see the face of that upstart of a girl when she was told that her plans of becoming a Darcy had come to naught. Yes, Elizabeth Bennet would learn her place.

As soon as the front door closed behind Lady Catherine's back, Darcy sprinted up the stairs. Back in the study, he was met with two pairs of expectant eyes. Darcy paced back and forth for a moment, trying to arrange his jumbled thoughts. He tried to remember all the reasons that had brought him to London in the first place, the thoughts that had stopped him from returning to Hertfordshire even though he knew he should. But it was impossible. All he could think about were the words Elizabeth had said to his aunt. _Extraordinary sources of happiness_. _No cause to repine_. He had to know if she had truly meant them. Maybe there was hope for them still.

Turning to his friends, he said:

"Bingley, Richard, I think I need your help. I..." he hesitated a little, "I think I need to get back to Hertfordshire. Right now."

Both gentlemen agreed to help him in whatever manner they could, glad to see that their friend seemed to be acting himself again. It was agreed that the Colonel would inform his parents of the change of plans and then go to Pemberley to fetch Georgiana for the wedding. Darcy had written to his sister, informing her of his plans of marrying but unable to bring himself to say much else. He desperately wished to have his sister with him, yet he did not want her to know how his engagement had come about. He wanted Elizabeth and Georgiana to become friends, sisters in the true meaning of the word. He knew how much Georgiana could benefit from the company of a woman like Elizabeth. He could see them already, giggling together, sharing girlish secrets. But not this secret. Not yet, at least. It would not do to start their relationship with mentions of a forced marriage. Or Wickham. Most definitely not Wickham.

Darcy's countenance darkened when he thought of his childhood friend. That he had once again managed to weasel his way back in Darcy's life, to very nearly take away from him something he held dear, was unbearable. It hurt him to think that Elizabeth had believed Wickham. He had somewhat reconciled himself to the idea that the poor impression he had given of himself while in Hertfordshire had greatly contributed to the fact that Elizabeth had been ready to think so very ill of him. But it still hurt. And then, suddenly, another thought entered his head, so repulsive that he felt physically ill. What if she had been in love with Wickham? What if she still was? Wickham had obviously told her supposedly intimate things about his life. What if there was more to her relationship with Wickham than he had realized?

He was literally shaken from his gloomy thoughts by Bingley, suddenly standing right in front of him, his hands on Darcy's shoulders.

"Darcy? Darcy! What is the matter with you? You look like you are planning on a murder rather than a trip to Hertfordshire. What is it?"

"It is nothing. Tell me, have you seen Mr. Wickham lately? Or do you know if he has had any connection with the Bennets?"

Bingley looked surprised with his question and thought for a moment before replying.

"Yes, I believe I have seen him once since you left. He came to visit Netherfield one afternoon, along with several other officers. It was a bit odd, now that you mention it."

Darcy was holding his breath, waiting for Bingley to continue.

"See, he arrived at the same time with Denny and that Chamberlayne fellow, but then he left rather suddenly, much earlier than the others. We were in the gardens, Jane... I mean, Miss Bennet and I, and her two youngest sisters, when they came. It was all very merry, and especially Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia were very excited to see them. But then, Miss Elizabeth came outside and, well, she did not seem at all pleased to see the officers. Mr. Wickham immediately sought her out, but they only exchanged a few words and then he suddenly made his excuses and left. Now that I think of it, he seemed strangely aggravated when he left. I say, Darcy, do you think he had some sort of an argument with Miss Elizabeth?"

Darcy let out a relieved sigh. "I do not know, Bingley. But I certainly hope so."

Bingley looked confused, but the Colonel came to Darcy, patting his back, smiling.

"Well, old man, it seems like you might have managed to talk some sense into her, after all. It certainly sounds very promising!"

"What sounds promising?" Bingley asked, completely baffled.

That did it. For the first time in days, Darcy felt mirth shaking his shoulders, laughter bubbling deep inside him. Elizabeth had believed him. She had argued with Wickham. She had refused his aunt's entreaties to break off the engagement. She had believed _him_, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and no one else. Perhaps now, she could love him too?

Darcy burst into a loud, carefree laughter, and the Colonel soon joined him.

"Darcy! Richard! What the devil is so funny?" Bingley cried, exasperated.

Between bouts of laughter, Darcy managed to pat Bingley's back affectionately.

"Welcome back, my old, unobservant friend. I sure have missed you!"

Tonight, they would ride back to Netherfield.


	9. Chapter 9

_author's note: as always, many, many thanks for reviewing, it means the world to me:) we have reached chapter nine and our favourite couple meet again. not quite what you expected, completely ridiculous, or just as it ought to be, you tell me!_

**Part 9**

Darcy hesitated before knocking on the door. He and Bingley had returned to Netherfield an hour ago, but he had yet to see Elizabeth. The hour of dinner had already passed when Darcy and Bingley had arrived and, to the chagrin of both, they had been informed by a gleeful Miss Bingley that both Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth had retired early to prepare for their departure on the morrow. Darcy had discovered that Mrs. Bennet and her three youngest daughters had already returned to Longbourn some days ago and now, Bingley's physician having finally decided that his patient was well enough to make the short journey back to his home, Mr. Bennet and his eldest daughters were departing as well. The odious parson, apparently, had left the neighbourhood together with Lady Catherine, and Darcy had wondered briefly if he had been sitting in her carriage, waiting, while Lady Catherine had attempted to talk Darcy out of marrying Elizabeth.

Darcy had felt a pang of regret for not returning earlier. In the weeks that had passed since the Netherfield ball, he had become so accustomed to Elizabeth's constant presence in Netherfield that he had almost forgot that it was only a temporary arrangement. And now she was leaving and, from the next day until the wedding, he would have to call on her at Longbourn if he wished to see her. Determined to have some conversation before the morning, he had declared that he would retire as well, citing the long day and the exhausting ride from London. Having said that, he had gone to his rooms to refresh himself and was now standing in the hallway outside Elizabeth's bedchamber.

His courage almost failed him and he had quite decided to leave when he heard her laughter on the other side of the door. He felt an instant longing to see her and, almost on its own volition, his hand rose and knocked on the door before he had time to think of what he would say when it opened. The laughter stopped and a maid appeared at the door, curtseying quickly at the sight of the imposing gentleman. Behind her Darcy could see Elizabeth and Miss Bennet, next to an open trunk, apparently folding away Elizabeth's gowns. Both were momentarily frozen in place and stared at him until Miss Bennet remembered her manners and made a quick curtsey, followed by Elizabeth.

Darcy cleared his throat, uncomfortable in the extreme. What was he doing, barging into a lady's bedchamber like this?

"Good evening, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth. I... ah, forgive me for intruding like this, but I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time, Miss Elizabeth?"

He felt like a complete fool, standing there, the maid and both sisters staring at him wide-eyed like he had dropped through the roof instead of knocking on the door. It seemed like a year passed instead of a few seconds, before Elizabeth replied:

"Of course, Mr. Darcy. It would be my pleasure."

She looked like it would be anything but, obviously alarmed by his sudden appearance, but stepped towards him all the same.

"Perhaps–" Darcy panicked when she neared, not really having planned what he would do _after_ he had knocked on her door and asked to speak with her. "Perhaps we could go to... the library for minute?"

The library? Why the devil should they go to the library? Nothing good ever came out of the two of them meeting in the library! Why the bloody hell had he suggested they go that miserable room? But she had already nodded her agreement, and to the library they went.

The first few moments after reaching the offending room were spent in an awkward silence. Darcy had no idea how to start this particular discussion and it seemed that Elizabeth fared no better. Finally, in a desperate attempt to break the silence, Darcy blurted:

"I am just returned from London."

Damned idiot. As if _that_ was not obvious enough already. But she seemed too anxious to notice the ridiculous in his statement and replied, quite gravely:

"Yes. I... We are returning to Longbourn in the morning."

Darcy wrung his hands.

"Oh yes, I heard. And- how is your father?"

"Much better, thank you. Though he has been much concerned by the prolonged absence of my suitor."

There. She had said it. She blushed as soon as the words left her mouth and bit her lip, and Darcy guessed she had not meant to say as much. But she had. And now they would have to talk about it. He pondered for a moment what to say, but she saved him the trouble when she suddenly said, in a voice filled with anxiety:

"Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to tell you how very, very sorry I am for what I said before you left! I- I cannot bear to think of the things I have accused you of, I have thought of little else since that day."

Darcy took an involuntary step towards her, his hand reaching towards her. He was about to speak but she interrupted him, her voice thick with distress:

"No matter the uncomfortable situation between the two of us, it was unforgivable of me to so freely throw at you such accusations, based only on the words of a man I was barely acquainted with. I perfectly understand if you wish to have nothing further to do with me."

Darcy paused for a moment, before making a reply, trying to digest her words. She was sorry, that much was obvious. And the fact that she said that she was barely acquainted with Wickham certainly was a relief. But she had called their situation uncomfortable, what specifically did that mean? Was she hoping that he would end the engagement? Or did she wish to continue it? He tried to choose his words carefully when he replied:

"I, too, have thought of little else in the days of my absence. I am sorry for taking this long to come back but I- I did not know what I should do. Mr. Wickham has used myself and my family quite ill for more times than I wish to count and to then be accused of such crimes against him, well, I confess I was grievously offended. But," he continued, noticing the distress on her face increasing with every word, "I have since come to realize, that it was nothing less than my own conduct while in Hertfordshire that created the groundwork for your dislike of me and led you to believe the worst of me. Had I been more open, more sincere in my actions, I doubt that you could have been so mislead by him."

"No!" she cried, with feeling,"I cannot let you take the blame for this. It is I who should be blamed. No matter how you conducted yourself, I should have realized how inappropriate it was of him to confess such details about his life when we had only just been introduced. I should have seen the falseness in his behaviour, the conflict in his words, first claiming he could never dishonour your father's memory and a mere moment later relaying every sordid detail – not one of which, I now feel confident, was true. No. It is I and I alone who bears the blame in this matter."

Darcy looked at her for a long moment, trying to gather his thoughts. She was sorry. But did she think any differently of him? Like a mantra, he replayed her words in his head as he slowly stepped closer to her. Extraordinary sources of happiness. No cause to repine. Tentatively, he reached his hand towards hers and she did not resist when he took it in his and led her towards a settee. She followed without a word and they sat down, neither looking at the other, awkward. Darcy tried not to think of the previous time they had been in the library like this. He hesitated, but she seemed calm and, though he was afraid she might, she did not pull her hand away. And from that little fact, the soothing warmth of her slender hand in his bigger one, he found the courage to continue:

"Miss Elizabeth, I believe it is time we talked. You were certainly wrong to accuse me of the things you did but then, I was wrong as well, about so many other things. I have told you before how very sorry I am for forcing you into this situation and I wish to repeat that it was no ill will that led me to do it but a sincere wish to help you in what I thought was a perilous situation. You have made your dislike of the circumstances very clear in the past but, well, my Aunt visited me in London and I believe she was here as well – another thing I must apologize for, I can only imagine the onslaught you were subjected to..."

He stopped as he thought he detected movement on her face, an almost imperceptible twitch of her lips.

"Oh yes, Mr. Darcy, your aunt most certainly was here. I can see why you were so ready to condemn the _reprehensible manners_ of my relations when your own express themselves with such eloquence."

Darcy flushed. How could he have said such a thing? Elizabeth's mother might have been prone to gossiping and to all sorts of insufferable silliness but compared to his aunt, she was a paragon of good manners.

"I- I cannot apologize enough for what she must have said. I should have been here, I should have stopped her..."

He paused as she squeezed his hand a little. Now there was definitely a hint of a smile on her face.

"Let us forget about it, Mr. Darcy. If nothing else, your aunt's visit provided great amusement to my father. I must say, he seemed almost sorry to see her leave..."

Encouraged by her quip and the little smile, Darcy felt safe to continue. He heard his own voice, low and unsteady, as he asked the question he had been wishing to ask since he had escorted his aunt out of his house:

"There was something my aunt said that taught me to hope as I had scarcely allowed myself to hope before. You- you are too kind to trifle with me, Miss Elizabeth. Is it possible... could it be that you have changed your mind about me, about our situation, even a little? If your feelings are still what they were before I left, you must tell me so at once. My wishes have not changed, I still wish to marry you, if only you will have me."

She blushed at his words and averted her gaze, and he waited, his heart in his throat, his hand squeezing hers, afraid that if he loosened his grip, she might pull it away. After what seemed like a small eternity, she looked at him from under her long lashes and said:

"Mr. Darcy, I- I find I do not know what to think–"

Darcy felt a shiver run down his spine. This sounded too much like the last conversation they had had.

"– I can see that I have been quite wrong about you in many respects–"

Or perhaps not so much like it, after all?

"– and I am now convinced that there is a goodness in you that I have failed to detect. You are right to suspect that I am not as averse to the idea of marrying you as I once was–"

Not as averse. A relieved sigh escaped his lips. It was nothing even close to a declaration of affection and yet Darcy felt like smiling. It was a beginning.

"–and am now rather of a mind that I might quite like you once I get to know you–"

He smiled now. Definitely a beginning.

"–but that, I believe, is the material point. I do not know you, sir. I know marriages are made between almost perfect strangers on a daily basis, merely based on material concerns. But that has never been what I have wished for myself. I-" she stammered a little, "I can see that there are great advantages for me in marrying you, I would be a fool not to. But there are other qualities, I believe, more precious than money, that one should wish to find in a spouse. Trust. Similarity of mind, of temper. _Love_. And to find these things is to know a person. And we, you must admit, do not know each other. These are not the sort of things one can know after a few dances, a few conversations in a drawing room full of other people. I know we must marry, but I cannot truly say it is what my heart wishes, not until I know you."

She looked at him now, straight in the eye, her eyes suddenly fierce, as if daring him to despise her for her fanciful ideals. But how could he? When everything she said rang perfectly true. He felt that he knew her, felt sure that he loved her. But was not there still so much to learn? And she, how much could she truly know about him, about who he really was? When, for a good part of their acquaintance he, in his prideful foolishness, had tried to avoid her, to hide from her his every thought? Of course she was apprehensive, she was marrying a man who was almost a stranger to him.

But then, he thought, was that not something they could fix?

"Miss Elizabeth, I believe you are quite right. There is no doubt many a misunderstanding could have been avoided if I we had known each other better. There are so many things we should talk about, so much to explain. I know it is a lot to ask – in a little over two weeks we shall be husband and wife after all – but do you not think that we could start over?"

She looked surprised. "Start over?"

"Quite, " he replied, and, while she looked at him wide-eyed, let go of her hand and got up from the settee. Taking a few steps towards the door, he straightened his lapels and turned back towards her. His face grave, he bowed gracefully and said:

"Good evening, madam. I do not believe we have been properly introduced. Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley, Derbyshire, at your service."

She hesitated only for an infinitesimal moment, before smiling shyly to him, her face becomingly blushed.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sir. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She offered him her hand and he kissed it, very lightly. His heart swelled. _This_ was a beginning.

"Could I be so bold," he murmured, her hand still in his, "as to ask you for your hand– "

Her eyes widened.

"–for this next set?"

She smiled again and he decided to make it his mission in life to make her smile as often as he could.

"Yes, sir. I believe I am available for the next."

It was undoubtedly the happiest moment of his life thus far, as he led her in the middle of the room, stood before her and bowed formally. In the drawing room downstairs, Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst had decided to entertain herself by playing the piano forte, unwittingly providing the proper setting for the private interlude in Netherfield's library, the music echoing quietly in the hallways. Only the books on the shelves bore witness to Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn and Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, twirling around each other as the patterns of the dance dictated, slowly and peacefully, their hands always holding a little longer than strictly necessary.

If only, Darcy thought, he could stay here always, in this little moment with her, he would be perfectly happy.

But life has a habit of not turning out the way we want it to.


	10. Chapter 10

_author's note: first of all, thank you for the reviews on the previous chapter, i was so happy to see that even jane austen had taken time from her busy schedule of being dead to leave a review:) on the very first lines of this story i hinted at some post-marital angst, so for those of you who were expecting it to bee smooth sailing from now on, i can only say i'm sorry. but fear not, i'm sure they will work it all out eventually:) oh and btw, should anyone be wondering about it, i realized that following the proper p&p timeline, christmas should have been about the time when darcy was in london. i had made a mistake in my calculations and, in order to fix it, have now in a godlike gesture pushed christmas back a little, sorry about that. but now, onto part ten, where not everything goes as planned and darcy acts his usual, thick-headed self. which is all my fault, of course, since i'm the one who wrote him that way. but anyway, here goes..._

**Part 10**

The days that followed the encounter in the library were spent in a pursuit that Fitzwilliam Darcy had never before attempted: He was courting a lady. He had always found the idea of courtship somewhat ridiculous but now, to his surprise, found himself simply ridiculously pleased with it. There were, of course, some rather unorthodox aspects to this particular courtship. Not often is a courtship so frequently interrupted by the mother of the lady courted, to ask for the gentleman's opinions on the flower arrangements for the wedding or the number of courses to be served at the wedding breakfast. But then again, Darcy secretly suspected that Mrs. Bennet might have been just as enthusiastic to plan a wedding even if they had not been engaged already.

Each morning he and Bingley – who, unsurprisingly, had begun to court Miss Bennet while Darcy had been busy sulking in London – would show up at Longbourn's doorstep at the earliest acceptable hour and stay much longer than was probably entirely proper. While Miss Bennet and Bingley seemed to spend most of their time simply staring at each other dreamily, Darcy and Elizabeth talked. A lot.

Darcy, never a talkative man, found it suddenly oddly gratifying to share with her every insignificant detail of his life. As much time as the weather permitted was spent outside, in Longbourn's gardens or walking in the surrounding area, to permit conversation away from the prying ears of Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth's youngest sisters. Many a subject was approached, including Darcy's dealings with Wickham and the unpropitious beginning of the engagement. Darcy did his best to explain to Elizabeth the feelings that had guided his actions and once again apologized profusely for having acted so officiously. Elizabeth was equally profuse in begging his forgiveness for believing Wickham's horrendous lies. In the end it was suggested by Elizabeth that they should both try and remember some of her philosophy: Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure. Darcy heartily agreed.

On the evening of the fourth day Darcy found himself smiling to himself as he prepared for dinner. A few hours ago, Georgiana and Richard had arrived to Netherfield, both pleased to find Darcy in such happy spirits. The next morning, they would all call at Longbourn, Darcy having already asked Elizabeth's permission to introduce his sister to her. He could not wait to see Elizabeth and Georgiana, the two most important people of his life, finally together. He was confident that the two ladies would get along marvelously. And then, in the evening, they had all been invited to dine at Longbourn. Miss Bingley had resisted the plan most stubbornly – it was Christmas Eve and her brother could not possibly expect her to spend it with that horrid Bennet family and their relations who would probably be equally ridiculous – but Bingley had reminded her that he had every intention to make the Bennets a part of the Bingley family soon, and if his sister could not live with that prospect, she could pack her bags and return to London.

Darcy secretly dreaded the event a little himself, but was determined to be on his best behaviour. It was Elizabeth's family, after all, soon to be a part of his own family, and he would do well to get used to spending time with them. And besides, he would get to spend the evening with Elizabeth. _Elizabeth_. He said the name aloud, pleased with the way it felt in his mouth, like a little caress. After generously teasing him about it, she had finally given him leave to use it as much as he pleased and he enjoyed this small token immensely. Almost as immensely as he enjoyed the first time she called him by his first name. Fitzwilliam, she had said, just that morning as they walked towards Oakham Mount, accompanying the word with a little nervous giggle. And then, more confidently, just William. It had been all he could do not to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless. But it was not time for that yet, he knew.

He had a small Christmas gift for her, a book of poetry, a favourite of his, that he was sure she would enjoy too. The night before, he had added a little inscription on the inside of the cover and, encouraged by the smiles she had given him that day, had used the word _love_ in it. He wondered if she would blush when she read it. He loved it when she blushed.

Getting out of his rooms, he was met by his sister in the hallway.

"You look very pleased with yourself this evening, brother." she said, smilingly. He was so glad she was smiling again.

"I am, Georgie dear, I am. I cannot wait for you to meet Elizabeth, I hope you will like having her as a sister."

He noticed her smile falter a little. "I am sure I will. But... do you think she will like having me as a sister? I know I have not been the best possible sister to you."

"Never say that!" Darcy cried, stopping and turning towards her, grasping her hands. And then, more softly, continued: "Georgiana, you are the best sister I could ever hope for. Nothing could ever change that. You must stop blaming yourself for what happened. It was _his_ fault, and his fault alone."

Georgiana squeezed his hands and whispered: "Thank you, William. But you know it is not true. It was foolish of me to agree to elope with him, I should have realized that it was not the right way to do it, even if he had been truthful with me. I promise to never disappoint you so again."

Suddenly full of emotion, Darcy gathered his sister in his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"You have not disappointed me, dearest. And if I have learned anything lately, it is that love makes people act in the most irrational ways."

Georgiana looked up to him, smiling in earnest again.

"You truly love her, then, do you not?"

"I do. Very, very much."

"Then I am happy for you."

Dinner was a happy affair, despite the scowling hostess and the fact that Mr. Hurst fell asleep after the second course and snored rather loudly through most of the third. Darcy and Georgiana were happy to see each other again and Richard was glad to witness the exuberance in both his cousins. Surely, those two had endured enough hardship to last a lifetime and now much deserved some happiness. And if this Elizabeth Bennet was anything like he suspected, she would undoubtedly make for a very welcome addition to the Darcy family. Bingley, too, enjoyed seeing Darcy in such high spirits again. And he was in no less high spirits himself, his courtship of Jane Bennet progressing in a most satisfactory manner. He could not wait to propose to her. After Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were wed, it would definitely be his turn.

The next morning, Darcy woke up early, full of excitement. He had dreamed of her, he always did these days, and his dreams had left him with such a longing that he could not get to her soon enough. Perhaps today would finally be the day when he would be able to steal a kiss from her. The mere thought of her lips against his left him reeling and he had to stop himself before his mind wandered to the other things he wished to do to her, with her. _Slowly_, he reminded himself. He needed to proceed slowly.

Taking great care to look his best, he headed downstairs to break his fast, only to notice that Georgiana, Bingley and the Colonel had yet to make an appearance. Where the deuce were they? He had made it perfectly clear the previous day that he wanted to leave to Longbourn as early as possible. He had finished his coffee and rolls and browsed through the newspaper twice before anyone else came down. Richard, the first to appear, seemed much amused to find his cousin pacing impatiently near the front door.

"Richard, where the devil have you been? And where are Bingley and Georgiana? We should be leaving any minute now!"

Richard laughed. "Look at the clock, old man. It has barely struck eight. You would not wish to barge into Longbourn to find the whole family still asleep?"

Darcy suddenly had a vivid image of Elizabeth, in her nightgown, her hair tousled and her beautiful eyes drowsy with sleep. How he would love to wake up next to her. To kiss the sleepiness off her eyes... Damn Richard for putting the thought in his head! As if he was not anxious enough to see her already.

"Fine," he growled, "I am going for a little walk. I expect to find you all good and ready to leave when I return."

When he did, he was satisfied to find Georgiana and Richard in the hall, quite ready and waiting for him. Only Bingley was missing.

"He went to change his vest," the Colonel chuckled, "apparently it did not suit with the colour of his coat."

"What?" Darcy ran up the stairs, causing both Georgiana and the Colonel to laugh at his undignified behaviour. "Bingley! Where are you? Come down this instance or we will leave without you!"

When they finally arrived to Longbourn, Darcy found himself feeling a little nervous. They had to wait for an unusually long time before the door was opened and, when a servant finally appeared to open it, she looked oddly nervous. As soon as they stepped in, it became obvious why. From up the stairs, loud wailing could be heard. Mrs. Bennet. Something had happened. Darcy had half a mind to run to find Elizabeth himself but the servant was already showing them into the drawing room. When the door opened, Darcy's breath caught in his throat. Inside sat Elizabeth, alone, her face pale and streaked with tears.

Throwing propriety to wind, Darcy rushed to her side, kneeling before her, grasping her hands in his.

"Good God, Elizabeth! What is the matter?"

She looked at him for a moment, unable to speak and then burst into tears again, her entire body shaking as she sobbed. Before he could think about it, Darcy was sitting next to her, his arms around her, her wet face buried in the folds of his shirt. Ignoring the several pairs of eyes around them, he pressed his lips in her hair and murmured soft, soothing words, all the while keeping a tight hold of her small, shaking form pressed against his chest.

After a little while, the sobs subsided and Elizabeth, seeming to regain her composure, straightened herself up and extricated herself from Darcy's arms. He felt the loss of her touch acutely. Suddenly seeming to take in the fact that they had company, she flushed and quickly got up, smoothing her gown.

"I- I apologize," she stammered, "I am not myself this morning. I... there has been a..."

Seeing her discomposure, Darcy got up too, taking her hand again in his.

"Please, sit back down, Elizabeth. You are obviously not well. Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill."

She did as he asked, all the while looking at their joined hands with an empty expression in her eyes.

"No, I thank you," she replied, pulling her hand away from his. "There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by some dreadful news we have had this morning."

She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, waited for her to continue, unsure of what to do. With his eyes he pleaded for his companions to leave the room and give them some privacy. When Elizabeth spoke again, Bingley was already outside and Richard was quietly leading Georgiana out of the room.

"I do not know how to say this, it is too dreadful! My youngest sister has left us all – has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of- of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together, in the dead of night. _You_ know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to – she is lost for ever!"

Many things happened at once. Elizabeth burst into tears again and Georgiana gasped and nearly fainted, Richard quickly catching her on his arms and leading her to a chair. Darcy stood fixed in astonishment, air escaping his lungs, feeling much like someone had just punched him in the stomach. Bloody, bloody, bloody Wickham! He could not believe it!

Looking from Elizabeth to his sister and back to Elizabeth again, he felt ill. He had failed them both. How could he not keep one bloody man from hurting his family over and over again? His voice was hollow when he spoke:

"I am grieved indeed, grieved – shocked. But is it certain—absolutely certain?"

"Oh yes." Elizabeth replied, her voice shaky, "She was gone this morning and we found a letter, stating that they were off to Gretna Green. But I do not believe it. What would he gain from marrying her? She has nothing to offer him, nothing!"

Darcy knew perfectly what he hoped to gain but could not bring himself to say it.

"And has anything been done, to attempt to recover her?"

"My uncle – he arrived here yesterday with his family – has gone after them. But nothing can be done – I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is in every way horrible!"

Darcy said nothing. She was most likely right. Lydia Bennet was ruined. And he, he could have stopped it all, if he had only made Wickham's true character known to the world when he had the chance. But he had been too proud, too bloody proud to make his private matters known to the world. And here was the result. Poor, silly, little Lydia Bennet, only a child still, was ruined forever. And he had no doubt that Elizabeth would hate him for it.

The silence seemed to stretch on forever, only interrupted by the sobs of both Elizabeth and Georgiana. Darcy was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air gloomy. What could be done? He looked at Elizabeth, her face covered in a handkerchief. Of all this she could have been saved, if she had never met him, if he had never offered to marry her. Wickham would not have cared two straws about Lydia Bennet if it had not been for the fact that she was about to become Darcy's sister-in-law. It was all his fault.

Kneeling in front of Elizabeth, he pleaded her to look at him. He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away, her voice shaky with sobs as she said:

"Do not, sir. Please, do not."

Darcy looked at her, forlorn, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He felt tears burning in his eyes when he thought of the day before, her blushing face as she had called him William. _Do not, sir._ She did not want him anymore. He had ruined it all. His voice was heavy with regret when he spoke:

"Forgive me. I am afraid you have been long desiring our absence. Would to Heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part that might offer you consolation. But I know very well it cannot be, not when it is I who have –"

His voice broke and he could not bring himself to say anything more. Elizabeth said nothing, did not even look at him. Finally, he bowed even though he knew she would not see it, bid her adieu and, with one last, serious parting look, turned and left the room, followed by Georgiana and Richard, who was supporting his young cousin. On the yard stood Bingley, his mouth opening to ask what had happened, but Darcy walked straight past him, unable to say a word.

In the carriage, he fixed his eyes outside, swallowing to keep the tears at bay. He did not remember crying since the funeral of his father. Finally, Richard broke the silence:

"Darcy! What the devil were you thinking, leaving her like that!"

Darcy was surprised by his cousin's angry tone.

"She did not want me there, did you not see it? It is all my fault, I should have exposed Wickham when I had the chance."

Richard huffed. "Well, if that was the case, what are you going to do about it?"

"I-" Darcy hesitated a moment, "I do not know. I do not know if there is anything I _can_ do."

"Bloody hell, Darcy!" his cousin huffed, "I never knew you had it in you to be such a damned idiot!"

Darcy said nothing, taken aback by the vehemence of his cousin's words. Was Richard right? Was he giving up too soon?

"Well," he said, hesitant, "I suppose- I could try and find Wickham?"

The Colonel rolled his eyes. "Well I certainly _suppose_ you could, old man. And, if you find him, I _suppose_ you could break every single bone in his body? I would certainly be more than happy to help you do it. But _this_, sitting and doing nothing, feeling sorry for yourself, this I cannot help you with. If you truly love that poor little lady we just left sitting alone in that drawing room as much as you say you do, I think you bloody well ought to do something!"

If Darcy was surprised to be reprimanded by his cousin, he was even more astonished when Georgiana suddenly spoke:

"I think Richard is right, brother. G- George Wickham should be stopped. I think you should go. Find him. And save Miss Elizabeth's sister if you can."

Darcy looked at the two, feeling defeat give way to determination. They were right, he _was _acting like a damned idiot. He might have made an enormous mistake, but perhaps there was still time to fix it. Find George Wickham. Save Lydia Bennet. Perhaps, if he managed to do that, Elizabeth would forgive him for having let his pride hurt her once more?


	11. Chapter 11

_author's note: angst ahoy, chapter 11 is up! thanks for reading and reviewing the previous chapter, you rock__! i'm sorry that it took me slightly longer than usual to get this done, let's hope for a quicker progression with chapter 12:)_

**Part 11**

Darcy was sitting on an armchair, in the drawing room of a modest but well-kept little house situated on Gracechurch Street, London. The likes of Miss Bingley – and he himself some time ago – might have sniffed at the slightly outdated furnishings of this Cheapside house, or the occupation of the man who owned it, but Darcy found the quiet comfort of the house soothing after the events of the morning and the owner one of the finest men he had ever met. Elizabeth's uncle, Mr. Edward Gardiner, might not have been the most fashionable man in town nor a part of the highest circles, but in the days that had passed, he had proved that he possessed other qualities that far surpassed the aforementioned when judging a man's character. He was a kind, intelligent, level-headed man and Darcy was glad to have made his acquaintance. And mightily surprised that the man was the younger brother of one, much less sensible lady from Hertfordshire. But that, of course, was something he would never be caught saying out loud.

Mr. Gardiner was in his study and the Colonel had gone to see his parents. He had asked Darcy to come with him, but Darcy had refused. He knew he was a coward to avoid his aunt and uncle, but he did not have the strength to deal with them right now. He had sent his uncle a short letter with Richard, apologizing for not having come personally and repeating the invite to come to the wedding. _His wedding_. The thought seemed surreal. So much had happened since that day in Netherfield's drawing room when he had jumped up and declared his intentions of marrying Elizabeth. He felt like a different man now. A better man? He could not tell. But quite different. And in three days he would face the biggest change yet. Marrying Elizabeth.

A sigh escaped his lips and he took a sip from the glass he was nursing. It was somewhat early still, but when Darcy and the Colonel had returned to Gracechurch Street to see Mr. Gardiner, all three gentlemen had been in agreement over the fact that they deserved a little brandy. It had been a trying morning indeed. And the days that preceded it had been even more so.

Finding Wickham and Miss Lydia had proven to be quite an ordeal. Having left Georgiana in Netherfield with the Bingleys, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had ridden after Elizabeth's uncle. At each place they had stopped, they had been told the same story. Wickham and Miss Lydia had been traveling towards London and that was the direction Mr. Gardiner was headed too. It was a stroke of fortune when, at the last place they stopped before reaching London, someone pointed them towards a gentleman, telling them that he had had just a few minutes ago been asking the same questions. Mr. Gardiner. Darcy and the Colonel had immediately gone and introduced themselves and the gentlemen had quickly agreed to combine their strength to discover the runaways.

The days that followed had been an exhausting succession of disappointments, one lead after another taking them to a dead end. It was not until, after much bribing and visiting places Darcy would never have set foot in under normal circumstances, that they had finally discovered the whereabouts of one Mrs. Younge. Though it was not as they had hoped – Wickham and Miss Lydia were not staying with her – they had eventually managed to convince Mrs. Younge that it was in her best interest to tell them everything she knew. And it had turned out that she knew quite a lot.

Darcy took another sip of his brandy. The image that had greeted them, when they had finally found Miss Lydia and Wickham, was forever etched in his mind, only in his imagination Lydia Bennet was replaced by his little sister. The horror of it, that this was what could have happened to Georgiana if he had arrived to Ramsgate a little later; that Elizabeth would now have to live with the knowledge of it happening to her sister instead, was too much. For behind the door they had knocked on, had been Miss Lydia Bennet, dressed in a flimsy nightgown, her cheek red where her lover had undoubtedly slapped her. From another room, a shout had been heard:

"Damn it, Lyds! Whoever it is, send them away and come back to bed this instant!"

Darcy cursed out loud as he thought of it. It was his fault, all of it. How he could ever look Elizabeth in the eye after this, he did not know.

A happily drunken George Wickham had not known what hit him when, after he had shown up at the door to see who was disturbing them, a furious Darcy had punched him squarely between his eyes before he had time to react. Blind with rage towards the man who had once again ruined his happiness, Darcy had been of a mind to punch him more than once, but the Colonel and Mr. Gardiner had stopped him.

"When I said _every bone in his body_, I did not mean it literally, you know?" the Colonel had grinned, "Though the thought is tempting, indeed."

What had surprised them all had been the stubborn reluctance of Miss Lydia Bennet to admit that there was anything very much wrong with what she had done. They intended to marry, after all, and surely it did not matter when exactly it happened, as long as it happened. Darcy found it most likely that Wickham had never had any intention to marry the girl, but he had not said it out loud. Lydia Bennet was a girl still, and though it surely was not enough of an excuse for her behaviour that she had thought that they would marry, he had not felt that it was his place to point this out to her.

Her uncle, however, had had no such scruples. With a calm but stern authority, which Darcy could not but admire, he had told his niece how grievously her actions had hurt her entire family and ordered her to gather her things and prepare to leave instantly. Miss Lydia had protested, claiming that she wanted to stay with Wickham, but her uncle had heard none of it. In five minutes he and Miss Lydia had been out of the door, with an agreement that Darcy and the Colonel would call on Gracechurch Street when they were finished with Wickham.

The mere idea of having to negotiate with Wickham had made Darcy physically ill. But, to salvage the reputation of Elizabeth's family, it had been necessary. Wickham had not been at all keen to consent to marrying the youngest Miss Bennet. He had laughed at their face when they had presented the idea, and suggested that they offer him Miss Elizabeth instead. After that, Colonel Fitzwilliam had not exactly tried his hardest to prevent Darcy from punching him again. In the end, they had managed to make him to agree to the marriage, and to keep his mouth shut about what had happened before the wedding wows were taken. It had taken a hefty sum of Darcy's money, a promise of a commission in the North – and a threat to take over all the debts he had left in Meryton and send him to debtors' prison if he did not play by the rules.

Thus, for better or – which was more likely the case – for worse, Miss Lydia Bennet was going to be Mrs. George Wickham. If Darcy could have had his way, he would have dragged the unfortunate couple to the nearest church straight away and have them married before Wickham could think of a way to weasel his way out of the agreement. But of course, it would not do. Banns would have to be cried and other formalities taken care of before the marriage could take place. They could only pray that the threat of debtors' prison would be enough of an inducement for Wickham to show up at the church when the day of the wedding came. Just in case, they agreed that Colonel Fitzwilliam would arrange for a man to keep an eye on the reluctant groom. That way they would at least know immediately if he started having second thoughts.

To have Miss Lydia return to Longbourn unmarried had been deemed an unwise idea by all of the gentlemen involved. To lessen the effects of the scandal, it was decided instead that Miss Lydia would stay at the Gardiners for the time being, so that perhaps, if Mrs. Bennet managed to restrain her lamentations on the subject when neighbours were present, people might think that she had merely been visiting relatives instead of eloping in a scandalous manner. Mr. Gardiner had already sent an express to Longbourn, in which he tried to explain as little as possible about the circumstances in which Lydia had been found, so as not to stress Mr. Bennet any more than was absolutely necessary, and asking for his wife and family to return to him as soon as possible. Darcy thought Mr. Gardiner a regular saint to agree to put up with Miss Lydia's behaviour for the weeks it would take to arrange the wedding – despite her uncle's attempts to reprimand her, she had constantly, or at least up until Mr. Gardiner had sent her upstairs to think about her behaviour, lamented on how much she missed her _dear _Wickham. But Mr. Gardiner only regretted that this meant that he and his wife would not be able to take part in Darcy's own wedding.

Contemplative, Darcy twirled the brandy in his glass. He should go home. On the morrow he and his cousin would head back to Hertfordshire and he needed to make sure that everything was ready for when he and Elizabeth would come back to town in a few days' time. But somehow, he found himself unable to move, unable to quit the comfort of the Gardiner's house. In the days that had gone by, he had never been alone, always busy to come up with a new plan to find Wickham and Miss Lydia, always coming home late at night, too exhausted to do anything but sleep. And the Colonel had been staying at the house with him. But not tonight. Tonight he would be all alone in the house and he disliked the idea exceedingly, for he knew what he would do. He would think of _her_.

Darcy gulped down the rest of his drink. What a lovesick fool he had become. Afraid to go to his own home, it was ridiculous. Getting up, he made his way to Mr. Gardiner's study. The door was ajar and he knocked before entering.

"I..." he said when Mr. Gardiner looked up from his papers, "I think I should get going, sir. Unless there is something more I can help you with?"

Mr. Gardiner smiled. "Apart from saving my brother's family from disgrace and demanding to take on the expenses yourself, you mean? No, I think you have done more than your share already, young man."

Darcy smiled too. He truly liked Elizabeth's uncle.

"You know I have done no such thing. It was my mistake to not have revealed his character so it is only fair that I should be the one to pay for it."

Shaking his head, Mr. Gardiner replied: "I would say that you are blaming yourself for something that is no more your fault than it is your fault that the sun sets in the evening. But I have told you that already, more than once, so I suppose it is of no use."

"No use at all, sir" Darcy smiled. They had gone over this several times over the days of the search. Despite Darcy's attempts to explain his point of view, Mr. Gardiner had obstinately refused to believe that Darcy was to blame for anything that had happened. If only he knew the true extent of Darcy's folly. Because of his actions, not one but two Bennet sisters were about to enter unhappy marriages. Darcy sighed. At least he had not managed to destroy the chances of happiness of the eldest Miss Bennet, though it was definitely not because of his lack of trying. Shame on him. Shame on him, indeed.

Having made sure that Mr. Gardiner had the directions of his lawyer in case anything was needed, Darcy made to depart. Mr. Gardiner got up to see him to the door and before Darcy stepped out of the house that had become familiar to him in the days that had passed, the two men shook hands.

"It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Please know that you and your family are always welcome at Pemberley. I-" Darcy's voice faltered a bit here, but Mr. Gardiner seemed not to notice. "I believe Elizabeth would be very happy to see some familiar faces there." Or any faces for that matter, besides your own, you fool.

"Thank you, my boy," replied Mr. Gardiner, "I believe we shall take you up on that offer. But not too soon, of course, my wife and I know better than to disturb a pair of newlyweds."

Darcy smiled, but this time it did not reach his eyes. He doubted that there were ever two newlyweds more in need of disturbance than he and Elizabeth would be. Perhaps, in time, Elizabeth would forgive him, but such felicity as he had dared to hope for in the happy days of courting his fiancée, he no longer expected. How could she ever love a man who had ruined, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?

On his way home, Darcy swore to himself that he would not spend the evening sulking over Elizabeth and their missed chances for happiness. He would have enough time for that once they were married. No, he would read that book that had stood unfinished on his nightstand for some time now, perhaps play a game of chess with himself. He was still Fitzwilliam Darcy, after all, and Fitzwilliam Darcy was not the sort of man to make a fool out of himself because he had been crossed a little in love. At least he had not used to be.

The next morning, Darcy woke up in the same clothes he had worn the previous day. He felt disoriented for a moment, trying to take in the strange surroundings. And then, to his great chagrin, he realized that he had not fallen asleep in his own bed but rather in the bed that, in a matter of days, would belong to his wife. _His wife_.

Not a sort of man to make a fool out of himself, indeed.


	12. Chapter 12

_author's note: ok, it seems that i have completely slipped from my previous pace of updating every four days or so. i'm sorry. it seems the closer we get to the end, the more difficult the chapters become to write. but i'll try to post at least weekly from now on, which is still a pretty good pace, i think? thank you all for the reviews on the previous chapter, i really appreciate you taking the time to tell me your thoughts:)_

**Part 12**

It was the gloomiest wedding day he could have imagined. In the early hours of the morning he had woken up from a fitful sleep to the sound of the first raindrops hitting his window. As he had lain awake in his bed, contemplating the day ahead and the events that had lead to it, the occasional patter had turned more insistent and now the rain was pouring down from the grey skies at a maddening pace. It suited, in his mind, the occasion. He had found George Wickham. He had saved Lydia Bennet, to the extent that she could be saved. But Elizabeth had not forgiven him. No. It was definitely not a day for bright skies and sunshine.

He had seen Elizabeth only twice after he had returned from London and on neither of those times had he managed to get her somewhere alone. Never in his life had he been more irritated by anyone than he had been by Mrs. Bennet these past few days. For heaven's sake, did the woman not realize that he had bigger things to worry about than whether if she should serve chocolate to her guests instead of tea? The woman he was marrying did not love him and, had Mrs. Bennet declared that she was to put bowls outside to gather rainwater and have the guests drink that, he would not have cared a whit.

The few little words he had managed to exchange with Elizabeth without anyone interrupting had not been encouraging. Though she had answered politely whenever he had asked something, she had been quiet and distraught, obviously not wishing for his company. Gone was the easy camaraderie that had been developing between them before the day he had left.

She had not even looked at him, that first time he had appeared at Longbourn's drawing room after returning from London. He had put all his hope on that first encounter, sure that in her eyes he could see what she thought of him now. And she had not even looked at him, instead keeping her eyes on the ground, her brow knit in some distress.

At one point, when Mrs. Bennet had again been asking for his opinion on some tedious detail or another, he had seen Elizabeth whispering to Miss Bennet. It had been obvious that she had been talking about him, for Miss Bennet's eyes had often darted in his direction. He had strained his ears in the hopes of hearing something, but between Mrs. Bennet's incessant chatter, he had managed to catch only a few words: _I thought he had left_. Was that it? She had thought that he was gone and was now distraught because he had returned and they were to be married after all? He had wanted to ask her, but did not, for it was obvious that she had not meant for him to hear.

To add to his miseries, Lady Catherine had once again graced Bingley's home with her presence the night before. Ever the reliable friend, Richard had managed to convince his parents that Darcy was going to go through with his plans of marrying, whether they supported him or not. The Earl of Matlock had been most averse to give his support, but Richard's mother the Countess had been more amenable, especially after her son had mentioned the magic word – love. Having watched Darcy all her life, she was persuaded to think that if anyone, that boy deserved some happiness in his life after what he had been through. _Even_ if that happiness came in the form of a country girl with no connections or fortune to recommend her.

In her first act of support she had, with the reluctant aid of her husband, let her sister-in-law understand that Darcy had been called to Pemberley on some urgent business and had therefore had to cancel the dinner that had been planned when he was in London, but that they were convinced that he was no longer planning on marrying the unsuitable lady from Hertfordshire. It had been the hope of everyone involved that Lady Catherine would not soon find out that she had been so unscrupulously deceived. No such luck.

Thus she had arrived, once again, to demand that Darcy cancel his wedding. This time she had even brought Anne in tow, as well as her obsequious parson, and Darcy had idly wondered if she had planned that she might perhaps knock him unconscious with her cane and have her parson marry him to Anne before he had recovered. It had been all he could do not to throw her out before she had so much as said a word.

After she had thoroughly abused first Darcy and his bride, then Richard for supporting his cousin and finally, after discovering that the Earl and the Countess had played a material role in deceiving her, most every member of the family, Darcy had had enough. In no uncertain terms, he had told her that she had offended him one time too many. If she found the idea of her nephew marrying Miss Elizabeth Bennet so revolting, he had said, he would ease her burdens: From that day onwards, she would have one nephew less.

Darcy sighed. Before Lady Catherine had finally departed, in high dudgeon and full of idle threats, he had told her expressly that if he discovered that she had so much as driven past Longbourn on her way home, there would be hell to pay. He could only wish that this had been enough, and he would not find out that Elizabeth had been subjected to another abusive lecture from the woman he no longer wished to call his aunt.

How had it all gone so terribly awry? He had been well on his way to mending things with Elizabeth, quite convinced that he was on the brink of earning the love of the woman he adored. And then bloody George Wickham had marched in and ruined it all, once again.

He thought back to the days when the Bennets had been staying at Netherfield, before the farce that was his engagement to Elizabeth began. He remembered how sad she had been and the ache he had felt then, the desperate wish to fix her world, to make it right again, that had finally driven him to make his unexpected offer. And now she was sad again and the ache he had felt before felt like nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the pain he was experiencing now. And this time, he was the cause of her misery, he and his cursed pride. Was it something he could ever fix? And was it something _she _would wish to fix?

Looking out of the window, his head filled with these gloomy thoughts, he did not hear his valet enter until the man cleared his throat, and he jumped a little. As if in a daze, he heard his man tell him that his bath was ready and heard himself say that he wished to bathe alone, unassisted. If he was ever going to get through this day, he needed to gather his thoughts and it was best done alone.

He took his time bathing, the warm water soothing his nerves. As he soaped himself and then lay idly, watching the lather form changing patterns on the surface of the water, his thoughts turned to Elizabeth, almost on their own volition. Many times when he had bathed, he had imagined it might be something they could do together once they were married. What it would feel like to run his hands over the contours of her body, to soap her and rinse her hair. She would giggle as he would try to pour the water just so that she would not get soap in her eyes. And then she might turn and kiss him and it would be _her_ hands running over _his_ body... Before he knew it, he felt the painful, familiar ache burn his loins and groaned, frustrated, willing it away. Elizabeth would not be welcoming him anytime soon, not to her bed and most definitely not to share her bath with her.

As he dressed, he wondered what life would be like after this day. In a few short hours he would be married. He would take Elizabeth first to London, and then, the next day, they would start the journey to Pemberley. He so wished to show it to her, his home, _their_ home. When he had asked Elizabeth for her opinion on the plan, Mrs. Bennet had once again interrupted, aghast at the idea that he was going to take Elizabeth straight to Derbyshire instead of showing her around Town and introducing her to his friends which, according to her, would have been more fitting to the station of the new Mistress of Pemberley. She had obviously been hinting that Darcy might have been ashamed to introduce Elizabeth to his acquaintances and Darcy had been rendered speechless, unsure of how to answer such a vulgar speech without giving offense in return. Bingley had saved him the trouble, jovially hinting that it was not so very uncommon, for a newly married man, to wish to keep his new bride to himself for some time.

Mrs. Bennet had tittered in agreement, but Elizabeth had sat, quiet, her eyes on the ground and her cheeks red. When Darcy had asked her opinion again, more quietly this time so as not to garner any more unwanted attention from his future mother-in-law, she had merely nodded and mumbled that if he thought it a good plan, she would by no means wish to oppose it. He had not known what to make of her answer. She could not possibly entertain thoughts similar to her mother? He had to admit that the thought of introducing his mother-in-law to his friends and family still made him shudder, but Elizabeth was quite another matter. He would be proud to stand by her side wherever they went and surely anyone with an ounce of sense could then tell that he was the one who had gained in the marriage, not his wife.

His wife. He wondered what she was thinking right then. Was she, too, looking at herself in the mirror? Seeing for the last time the lovely face of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. In a few hours she would be Mrs. Darcy. Would she look different then? He had hoped before that she would look happier, but that now seemed unlikely. _Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy._ The words still tasted nice in his mouth. No, he did not regret marrying her. He could not. His only regret was that she might not feel the same way.

Darcy pasted a smile on his face as his aunt wished him every happiness when he met her downstairs. Even his uncle patted his back and grunted a few encouraging words – Darcy suspected that he was secretly afraid that if he did not act supportive, Darcy might repeat his tantrum from the previous night. Bingley and the Colonel, more aware than the rest of the room of Darcy's true situation, did their best to keep up a cheerful banter that only occasionally demanded more from Darcy than a smile or a nod. He could not have been more grateful and secretly dreaded the wedding breakfast – there would be so many more people there. But, above all, he dreaded what would happen in two or three weeks when Georgiana would join him and Elizabeth in Pemberley.

His little sister, while she had witnessed the effects of Wickham's elopement with Miss Lydia, was still largely unaware of the tenuous nature of her brother's relationship and he had much wished to keep it that way. He had hoped that Elizabeth and Georgiana could become the best of friends and now he had not even managed to introduce them properly. He had taken Georgiana with him on his most recent visit to Longbourn, but Georgiana had been so shy and Elizabeth so reticent that no more than a few words had been exchanged between the two ladies. That, at least, was something he could hope would improve over time, surely there was no reason why Elizabeth and Georgiana could not befriend each other, even if he and Elizabeth were not on the best of terms? But he had fervently wished that Georgiana would never have to learn the truth about her brother's betrothal. What would she think, to discover that the brother she respected, looked up to as she would to a father, had lied, had compromised a lady, practically forced her to marry him?

All too soon Darcy found himself standing nervously at the altar, waiting for Elizabeth to appear at the other end of the aisle. The pews of the little church were filled to the brim, it seemed that everyone in Meryton wished to see Elizabeth Bennet wed the illustrious stranger. After arriving at the church, he had heard snippets of conversations, the words _secret engagement_ and _library_ appearing more often than he would have cared. Two ladies he had passed had been whispering about the sudden disappearance of Miss Lydia Bennet. It irked him that his private affairs were the subject of gossip. As he waited, he tried to keep his countenance stern and unaffected. It would not do for the people to see how upset he was. He did not wish to give them anything more to talk about.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw Elizabeth at the other end of the aisle, dressed in a luminous white gown, her hand ensconced in the crook of her father's arm. As they approached, at what to him seemed a painfully slow pace, he swallowed nervously, feeling his hands begin to sweat. He realized how panic-stricken he must have looked when his eyes drifted from Elizabeth for a moment, and he saw Mr. Bennet winking at him, a hint of a smile on his face and much more than a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes.

He had had a brief chat with the older gentleman the day before, consisting mostly of Mr. Bennet thanking him for what he had done for his family and Darcy insisting that there was nothing to be thankful for, for the whole incident was his fault to begin with. It had resembled his several conversations with Mr. Gardiner to the point of being amusing. Mr. Bennet had insisted that he would pay Darcy back every penny and Darcy had insisted that he would have none of it. When Mr. Bennet had in the end declared how very happy he was that his daughter was marrying such a worthy gentleman, Darcy had all but sunk through the floor in embarrassment.

Darcy felt the familiar jolt when he took Elizabeth's hand in his own during the ceremony. She looked flushed, her gaze averted, and he wondered if she had felt it too. Thoughts raced through his mind when he said his vows and heard her repeat her own, in a quiet, trembling voice. Had he ruined her life, jumping up that day a month ago, declaring his intentions of marrying her? Would she spend the rest of her life wondering how different it could have been if she had never met him? He could not bear to think of it.

Before he knew it, the ceremony was over and there, in front of the good people of Hertfordshire, stood Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, hand in hand, joined in holy matrimony for as long as they both should live.

Darcy felt her hand tremble and, without thinking, squeezed it a little in encouragement, drawing a tiny circle on the back of her hand with his thumb. When he turned his head towards her, he saw her looking at him, straight in the eye, for the first time since his return. Her eyes were round and the expression in them unreadable, but around her mouth he could swear he saw the frail beginnings of a smile playing. It was enough.

He _would_ fix this. Or spend the rest of his days trying.


	13. Chapter 13

_author's note: first of all, PLEASE NOTE THAT I HAVE CHANGED THE RATING OF THE STORY. the change is not for this chapter really, but because of the chapters to come. it was not my original intention to change it, but it suddenly struck me when writing this chapter that i've put darcy through so much disappointments in this story, that i might not be able to live with myself if i didn't make it up to him by letting him have at least a little loving before the end:) thank you for reading, and any thoughts you will wish to leave me will be much appreciated:)_

_EDIT: ok, violette_eyed_girl pointed out to me that M sounded a bit much for this sort of story and might scare some readers away and, finding myself in agreement, i have changed the rating back to T again:) i'm posting this story on another site as well and i must say that they have much better rating system there, because there's one extra rating level between T and M and i find myself hoping that there would be one here as well, a T+ or something:) but we'll keep it T for now, i'll give another warning if i start to later feel that it's not enough:)  
_

**Part 13**

The rain had abated to a mild drizzle. Darcy looked at the large puddles that had formed on the yard during the morning and hoped that the roads would not be in too bad a condition. Behind him stood Elizabeth, her arms around her father's neck.

"I will miss you, Papa!"

"And I will miss you. With you gone and Jane surely soon following in your footsteps, I shall not hear two words of sense put together in this house."

"Papa!" Darcy was surprised to hear Elizabeth's tone turn admonishing. "I beg of you, be kind to Mary and Kitty. I am sure they could both benefit from some fatherly advice."

"I will, child, I will. Those sisters of yours will not step anywhere near anyone in a read coat, if I have any say in it. But you must promise me something in return: Be kind to your Mr. Darcy. He is the best of men. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy."

Darcy desperately wished that he was standing the other way around so he could see Elizabeth's face. As it was, he could only hear her voice as she whispered:

"I know, Papa. And I will, I promise."

He was startled by her words and wondered if she only said them for her father's benefit or if it was a promise she actually intended to keep.

The first minutes of the carriage ride were spent in an awkward silence, Elizabeth's eyes teary from all the goodbyes. Darcy tried to think of a safe subject to begin a conversation with, finally settling for:

"Are you quite comfortable?"

She looked up, as if surprised that he had asked such a thing.

"Oh yes, quite. Thank you ,sir."

Darcy sighed at her formal tone and address. Sir? Certainly that did not bode well. His voice a little petulant, he said:

"Please, Elizabeth. We are husband and wife now, do not call me _sir._"

She turned her eyes away for a moment, and then, seeming to gather her courage, replied:

"What would you have me call you then, husband?"

She smiled a little, her chin raised as if in a challenge, and his heart swelled at this little show of the impertinence he so admired. He did his best to reply in kind.

"Well, _wife_, I thought we had discussed this already. I would very much like it if you would call me William."

He thought he detected something akin to surprise on her face at his reply, and her voice sounded sincerely doubtful when she asked:

"You would?"

"I would."

A silence ensued, Elizabeth turning her face away again, her eyes on the scenery outside. Darcy wondered at the meaning of their little exchange. She had seemed almost playful for a moment, something he had not seen in days, but then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the moment was gone and she was looking anxious again. He tried to think of a way to proceed. There were so many things he wanted to talk about, so many things they needed to talk about. Where to begin? In the end it was Elizabeth, not him, who found the courage to start. With a sudden urgency, she leaned across the width of the carriage and grasped his hands. The words she uttered were ones of wonder to him:

"Mr. Darcy... _William_. I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since you have returned, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it, but I quite simply did not know how."

He looked at her, uncomprehending, his eyes turning from her face to their hands and then back to her face again. His kindness?

"Indeed," she continued, "in the name of all my family, I have to thank you. You have rescued my sister – saved my family from the censure of the world, from the derision of our neighbours. Let me thank you again and again for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering my sister and Mr. Wickham."

For a moment, Darcy just stared at her, dumbfounded. She was thankful? Elizabeth's uncle and father had expressed similar thoughts, but he had thought that it was only because they did not understand the extent of his folly, did not realize how very selfishly he had behaved in hiding his previous affairs with Wickham. But Elizabeth? Elizabeth, who was well aware of the flaws of his character, his arrogant, selfish attitude when he arrived in Hertfordshire. What could she mean, thanking him when it was so obvious that it was because of him that the Bennets had suffered in the first place?

"Please, do not thank me, Elizabeth. I- I did no more than was my duty. I only wish that I would have acted earlier, that the entire occurrence could have been avoided."

She dropped his hands and leaned back and he watched as her face fell.

"Oh," she whispered, "Of course. I- I understand perfectly. Forgive me, sir."

He looked on in agony as her eyes once again turned to the window. She swallowed repeatedly and he could see tears clouding her eyes again. What had he said now, to upset her so? She had been so distant ever since he had returned, so distraught, so obviously angry at him. And now she was trying to thank him and seemed to be offended when he did not let her? It did not make sense. And then, quite unexpectedly, a possibility dawned on him: Perhaps she had not been angry at all? Perhaps she, like her father and her uncle, was of the idea that he was not to blame for the situation? Could it be?

Willing her to look at him again, he leaned towards her and said:

"Elizabeth, please, I wish there to be no more misunderstandings. I did not wish for you to thank me because I believe there is nothing to be thankful for – it was my fault that Wickham managed to hurt your family and it was only fair that I should be the one to rectify the situation. But if you _will_ thank me, let it be for yourself alone. Your _family_ owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of _you_."

She looked at him then, tears now falling from her eyes in earnest. Her voice was but a whisper when she replied:

"Of _me_?"

That did it. In one swift move he took the place next to her and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against his chest. After only a moment's hesitation, she leaned into him and he thought his heart might stop when he felt her hand under his coat, wrapping around his chest, pulling him closer. Tightening his hold he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion:

"Of you, Elizabeth. _You_ are all I ever think about."

Some time later, Darcy woke up from a deep slumber. He was leaning against the corner of the carriage in an uncomfortable angle, his back aching and his other leg completely numb. Yet he would not have moved for the world. Against his side he felt his wife's chest heaving in a slow, even rhythm. Her hands were draped around him, her head snuggled against his chest. No, he would not have moved, even had his life depended on it.

Looking out of the window he saw that they had reached the outskirts of London. Soon he would have to wake her up. Soon, but not just yet. It seemed unfathomable to him, to be where he was after all that had happened. She did not seem to blame him for what had happened, she had let him comfort her. She had cried herself asleep in his arms and he had realized that she must have been just as emotionally exhausted by everything that had happened as he was. So he had let her sleep, soon dozing off himself. They would have time to talk more later.

The carriage jolted and her arm dropped to his lap. The weight of her hand _there_ combined with the rocking of the carriage and the fact that her body was pressed so close against his brought the sudden stirrings of desire, and he soon found himself in a most unfortunate predicament. His heart was telling him to lean back and savour the unexpected intimacy, but his head knew better. Surely she would think him a beast of the most abominable kind if she were to wake up now and feel the obvious evidence of his increasing passion under her hand.

Carefully, he reached for her hand and lifted it back to its original place. He tried to think of other things to cool his ardour, but his thoughts kept going back to the fact that the night to come would be his wedding night. He had not been expecting any sort of intimacy any time soon in his marriage, but now he could not help but think of it. Some might have said that it was his right as a husband to demand it of his wife, but he had never been one to entertain such thoughts. He would defer to Elizabeth's wishes on the matter. But just now he fervently hoped that her wishes would not differ too much from his own.

Realizing that they were getting close to their destination, he set himself to the task of waking up his wife.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, drawing circles on her back. She mumbled something unintelligible, snuggling closer to him, making him hope that they were not quite so near home already. Sure, his other leg was starting to go numb too, but he still would not have minded to spend the rest of the day in this fashion. The long journey to Pemberley started to sound very appealing all of a sudden.

"Elizabeth," he said again, a little louder this time.

This time she stirred a little and he heard an endearingly groggy voice speak his name:

"William?"

He smiled and leaned a little closer to her in an attempt to kiss the top of her head. And then, suddenly fully awake, she jumped up, her head hitting his chin in a most painful manner.

"Ow!" he yelped

"Oh!" Elizabeth's hands flew to her mouth, "Forgive me! I- I am sorry! I fell asleep and..." she was suddenly distracted by the scenery outside. "Are we in London already?"

"Yes," Darcy replied, rubbing his chin, feeling very much bereft without her in his arms. "I believe we are only a few minutes from Grosvenor Square."

"Oh." Elizabeth looked suddenly distressed and he wondered at the cause of it. She had blushed profusely and seemed to be looking at everywhere but him. Straightening her clothes she said in a hesitant voice:

"I- I must have slept quite a while, then. Forgive me, it was not my intention to fall asleep."

He smiled. She was obviously embarrassed to have woken up in his arms.

"Do not trouble yourself, Elizabeth. You were obviously in much need of a little rest. As was I, for that matter."

"You- you slept too?"

His smile grew wider. Somehow, her discomfort seemed endearing.

"I did."

"Oh," she breathed, her eyes wide. It was her third _oh_ in as many minutes, he wondered if she had noticed.

"Elizabeth," he said, when it became obvious that she was not going to say anything else. "When we reach the house, I am going to introduce you to the servants." He waited a moment, in case she would have something to say about his plan. When she said nothing, he continued: "It is just a formality. I wish for everyone to meet their new Mistress and, as we will be leaving again tomorrow, I thought that it is best done straight away."

"Of course."

She sounded more than a little nervous and a thought struck him – marrying Elizabeth had been a big change for him, but surely it must have been an even greater one for her. He felt very selfish all of a sudden, not having considered how she would feel about becoming the Mistress of their homes. He had been so accustomed to the idea that any woman would be privileged to be given the chance, that he had not stopped to think about what a daunting step it would be, especially to someone who was not used to such a life.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it a little.

"Do not worry, Elizabeth. I am convinced that you shall be an exemplary Mistress."

She smiled a little but it seemed to him that it did not reach her eyes. And then, the carriage stopped and a footman appeared to open the door. He got out first and turned to assist her. He watched her face carefully as she took in the house. Her expression was unreadable but he suspected she was nervous. And then, suddenly, he noticed her brow arching and one corner of her mouth turning upwards.

"Pray tell, do you find my house amusing?"

"Oh no, not at all. I was merely thinking of something Miss Bingley once said. I was half expecting something in resemblance of St. James or Buckingham House."

"Disappointed?"

Though he infinitely preferred Pemberley, he had always rather liked the house in London, too. In his mind, it had qualities often missing from the houses of the ton – qualities that made it feel more like a home and less like a palace. He much hoped that she would feel the same way.

"Not in the least," she replied with a smile and he was gratified both by her answer and by the fact that her spirits seemed to be rising.

After the introductions – which Elizabeth had, just as Darcy had suspected, handled with aplomb – he suggested that they retire to refresh themselves a little after the long journey and that then, perhaps, he could give her a tour of the house before dinner. Elizabeth agreed to the plan, but he noticed that she looked a little alarmed when he led her upstairs.

When he showed her to her bedchamber, she barely looked around and he hastened to add that if she did not find her rooms to her liking, she could always redecorate. He did not mention that he had already had them refurbished for her, a little miffed that she did not seem more pleased with them. Perhaps he had been as poor a judge of her tastes as he had been of other things?

He asked her a few questions about the rooms but, after receiving only monosyllabic answers, decided it was best to leave. Perhaps she was still tired from the journey. Asking her if an hour would be enough for her to refresh, he walked to the door that adjoined her bedchamber to his and was about to close it behind him when he heard her gasp. Turning around, he noticed she was staring at him, eyes wide.

"Does that door lead directly to your rooms?"

He nodded his agreement, puzzled by her obvious surprise. It was hardly an uncommon arrangement, quite the contrary. She contemplated his answer for a moment before asking another question:

"And does it- does it lock?"

He stood still for a moment, taken aback by her question. He did not know whether to feel grieved or offended. All hopes of a proper wedding night were swiftly forgot. His voice barely composed, he replied:

"It does."

With that, he closed the door and leaned against it, closing his eyes. What a fool he had been, thinking that she was warming up to him.


	14. Chapter 14

_author's note: a huge thank you for all the kind reviews you left me on the previous chapter, i don't think i could survive without them:) i want to dedicate this chapter to celestial beauty and hopefulro who decided to take the time and leave me a longer review just at the providential time - i was so displeased with my writing that day, completely stuck and uninspired and your kind words just made my day. for anyone who's interested, i've made a slightest change to the first chapter. nothing major, just changed the wording a little because it struck me that i might have made the beginning to sound just a little too ominous.. and for anyone who missed the edit on last week's author's note, i've changed the rating again, back to the original one. because i'm just _that_ fickle, it turns out:)_

**Part 14**

_Does it lock?_ Darcy paced about his bedchamber, fuming. _Does it bloody lock_? What on Earth did she think he was? Some kind of monster who would attack her in the dead of night if she did not lock him out? It was in every way abhorrent! What could possibly have possessed her to ask such a question? Did she trust him so little?

Raking his hand through his hair he tried to breath deep to calm himself. Surely this was no way to begin a marriage. He thought back to the carriage ride and the way she had slept in his arms. His anger abated as he remembered how she had snuggled closer to him just before she awoke. For that little moment, she had seemed so very comfortable in his nearness, so perfectly trustful. He liked to think that _that _was how she truly felt about him and _this_, this was something else.

He went through the morning in his head. She had been awkward at the church, but he now knew it was not because she had been angry at him. He did not remember much of the wedding breakfast, he had been too anxious to speak to Elizabeth to really pay attention to the throng of well-wishers that had swarmed around them. Elizabeth, especially, had been surrounded by the matrons of the neighbourhood and he now recalled that she had looked extremely uncomfortable at times. He had thought her reaction perfectly normal in the morning – he himself would no doubt have reacted exactly the same way if he had been accosted by the likes of Mrs. Phillips and Mrs. Long – but now he realized that for Elizabeth, unlike himself, such a reaction was not at all natural. Unlike her reticent new husband, she generally flourished in large gatherings. What was different this morning?

And then, suddenly, everything clicked into place and he felt like an utter fool for not having understood sooner. He knew what those matrons were like, what _all_ matrons were like. No doubt they had filled Elizabeth's head with all sorts of _friendly _advice on her marital duties. He remembered the look on her face when he had been in her bedchamber. How blind he had been, worrying that she was upset because she did not like the furnishings or the colour of the walls. How bloody ridiculous! No doubt for the first time in her life, she had been alone with a man in her bedchamber, her thoughts probably full of all sorts of horrid nonsense about what to expect, and instead of being more considerate of her discomfort, he had loitered around, asking her if she thought the bed properly situated. A fool of the first order.

Determined to set things right, Darcy returned to the door he had shut a short while earlier and knocked on it gently. When he received no answer, he knocked again, a little harder this time. After what seemed like a small eternity, he heard her voice, uncharacteristically tremulous, telling him to enter. Opening the door, he found her standing next to the offending bed, twisting a handkerchief in her hands, her brow knit in distress. Desperate to lighten the mood, he smiled a little and nodded towards the door:

"I see you have not discovered the key yet."

"Oh!" she cried in reply, "I- please, I beg for your forgiveness for what I said earlier! It was quite unforgivable of me, I know, but I hope you will forgive me all the same. I- I do not know what came over me."

Not wishing to alarm her, he did not step any closer, standing instead where he was, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Not to worry, Elizabeth. You might not know what came over you but I, well, I think I do."

The distress on her face turned into surprise.

"You do?"

He watched as the blush that had already graced her face on several occasions that morning made its return, this time more prominent than ever. How had he not seen her discomfiture earlier for what it was? It had been perfectly obvious to him, when her face had reddened in the carriage after discovering herself to have slept so close to him, just how very embarrassed she had been by the situation. Why had he not seen that the way she had behaved later had been just another show of that same maidenly embarrassment?

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice grave, "I told you earlier that I wish there to be no more misunderstandings between the two of us."

She nodded, biting her lip, her eyes fixed on the floor as he continued:

"I- I wish for you to know that I would never take from you something that you are not willing to give me. _Never_, Elizabeth. Do you understand?"

She nodded again, looking up to his eyes now, and this time he could not help but step a little closer to her, reaching his hand to touch her arm lightly. Gently, he guided her towards an armchair and as she sat down, asked in a softer tone:

"Am I right to assume that someone has lead you to believe otherwise?"

It was an uncomfortable subject, yet one he felt it was necessary to approach. If she had any misconceptions of what he expected of her, he wanted to set things straight, to make sure that she understood where they stood.

She hesitated for a moment before answering, her blush persisting. When she answered, she stammered a little and spoke quickly, obviously disconcerted by such a subject.

"You are. You see, my mother, she told me to expect certain things from you and gave me some advice on how to make the experience... less unpleasant." She seemed thoroughly mortified and he wondered what the devil her mother had told her. "I am well aware of my mother's tendencies to embellish certain things but, as it was, I heard similar whispers from several of the ladies of our acquaintance this morning and, well, to be quite frank, it all left me a bit worried about what was to come."

He raised his eyebrows, skeptically.

"A bit worried?"

Finally, she smiled a little.

"Very well, I admit, a lot worried."

He smiled too, hoping to ease her discomfort.

"Well, do not be, for there is nothing to worry about. Would you believe me if I told you that what your mother and the good ladies of Meryton have told you is undoubtedly a load of nonsense, at least for the most part?"

His question was rewarded with a widening smile and he was glad to see her spirits rising.

"I might not. You see, _that_ is exactly what they told me you would say. According to them, men in general have very little understanding on the subject and are prone to make it sound more pleasant than it really is."

She blushed at her own audacity, but smiled still and he stifled a groan, wondering if she knew what a fetching sight she presented, smiling, her cheeks flushed, teasing him like that. How he wished to show her _exactly_ how much understanding he had on the subject and how very, very wrong was her estimation on the pleasantness to be expected. He had not thought that he could ever be more irritated by Mrs. Bennet than he had been before the wedding, but how wrong he had just been proved. The woman was a menace to his sanity! As if their marriage was not off to a difficult enough start without her deranged words of wisdom on the subject of the marriage bed. Exasperated, he blurted quite unthinkingly:

"Oh, how I wish that your Aunt Gardiner would have been present at the wedding today. If she is even half as sensible as her good husband, I doubt we would be having this discussion."

Unexpectedly, she laughed at his words.

"I gather that you liked my uncle then?" she asked, smiling, and he was glad for the momentary change of subject.

"I did," he answered sincerely, "one of the best men I have ever had the privilege to meet."

She looked surprised for a moment but he soon detected her brow forming the familiar, devious arch that he so loved. Her voice deceptively nonchalant, she asked another question, her eyes keen on his face, obviously gauging for his reaction.

"And pray tell, did you find Cheapside very much to your liking, too?"

He was caught off guard by her question and guessed that he must have looked mightily dumbstruck, for she burst laughing again.

"Elizabeth," he began, chagrined, "I have been a fool, judging people by the worth of their position in society rather than by the worth of their character. Can you ever forgive me for my stupidity?"

She looked at him, appraisingly, and if he had not recognized the twinkle of amusement in her eyes, he might have thought that she was truly considering not forgiving him. Finally, she leaned forward, took his hand in hers and with a warm, sincere smile said:

"Let us make a deal. I shall forgive you your stupidity – if you shall forgive me mine."

Reveling in the feel of her hand in his and the warmth of her gaze as she looked at him, it took him a moment to reply and when he finally did, he heard his own voice, soft and hoarse with wanting her, and blushed like a schoolboy.

"I believe we have a deal, madam."

Later, they met in the hallway for the promised tour of the house. She had changed into a new frock, a simple thing of a light green hue that complemented the translucent glow of her skin and the sparkle of her dark eyes. What little composure and calmness he had managed to regain in the short time away from her was instantly lost. It was hopeless. He wanted to touch her so much it left him feeling faint. Yet he did not wish to scare her and undo whatever progress they had made earlier. He would wait. He would wait until she was ready. He wondered how long that would be?

The tour, to his great pleasure, seemed to be a success – Elizabeth appeared to like the house a great deal, just as he had hoped, seeming sincerely interested in every nook and cranny and the stories of his life that went with them. She laughed when he told her how he and Richard had once stolen Lady Catherine's spectacles and hid in a closet for an entire afternoon to escape her wrath. The boys had been eight and ten respectively, but Darcy assured Elizabeth that, in his aunt's mind, this had been no mitigating circumstance. Her eyes misted when he told her of the last season he had got to spend in Town with both of his parents, before his mother had passed away. And when they entered the enormous library, she seemed so childishly excited that he had half a mind to lift her by the waist and twirl her around in the air like he had done with Georgiana so many times. Yes, she seemed half in love with their home already. He could only hope that she was half in love with him too.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, although he secretly cursed the person who had thought it a good idea to set the table so that he was sitting across the table from her instead of next to her. Instead of _accidentally_ brushing his arm against hers when ever opportunity arose, he had to settle for admiring her from across the table. They talked of inconsequential things, neither wishing to upset the balance that had been reached and happy to just spend a little time together. In return for his stories earlier, she told her anecdotes of her childhood and he fell in love with her even more, imagining a headstrong little girl who preferred climbing trees to ribbons and embroidery and could outrun even the older boys of the neighbourhood. He managed to shock her by suggesting that she would like Pemberley then, for all the space for running it offered. The surprised look on her face left him in no doubt that she had thought that he would frown upon such unladylike activities.

After dinner, they spent some time in the music room and Darcy entreated her to play Georgiana's piano forte, despite her claims that she played very ill indeed. He had heard her play once before and had found very little wanting and this time, he found even less. Her performance was by no means capital, but it was pleasing, easy and unaffected and he found himself drawn to her, moving towards the instrument almost unconsciously.

"You mean to frighten me, husband, by coming in all this state to hear me?" she asked with a teasing smile. "I will not be alarmed though I hear your sister _does_ play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

He smiled at her.

"Oh it does, does it? Tell me, does your courage always demonstrate itself in a propensity to lock people out of your room, or does that only apply to such situations where you are intimidated by my person?"

Her eyes widened and her fingers stopped moving on the keys and for a horrible moment he was afraid that he had gone too far. But then her face broke into a smile and her cheeks reddened:

"Touché, sir. I believe you have caught me in a lie. How would you wish to punish me?"

It was an innocent enough question, but one that instantly lead his mind towards less than innocent thoughts and he felt the stirrings of desire course through him. Trying to curb the urge to seize her in his arms and carry her upstairs, he cleared his throat and suggested that perhaps she might play one more piece for him before they retired. The mere mention of retiring seemed to make her nervous and he wondered what she would have thought if she could have read his mind. Perhaps Mrs. Bennet and the other ladies had not been so terribly wrong to warn her after all.

The stairs had never felt as painstakingly long as they did when he escorted her upstairs later. Neither said a thing and though he could swear that she looked at him every now and then, her gaze was always directed somewhere else when he turned his eyes towards her. When they neared her door, he could feel her hand trembling on his and when he swallowed to calm himself down, the sound felt so loud that he was sure that half the house could hear it.

When they finally stopped at her door, he turned towards her and, after some hesitation, she finally looked up to him. She looked so beautiful to him that it was almost unbearable, yet she also seemed so vulnerable, almost fragile. And, he had to admit though he did not wish to, so afraid. And so he did not what he wanted to, but what he thought he ought to: He took a deep breath and slowly bent towards her and, in the biggest effort he had ever made in his life to restrain himself, kissed her forehead gently, touched her cheek with the back of his hand and said goodnight. She was not ready for him yet and there would always be tomorrow. But what a long and lonely night it would be.


	15. Chapter 15

_author's note: in response to some of the feedback i've had on this chapter, i have revised it a little. there's still no epilogue and i have no plans of adding any new chapters, but i've tried to add a little more flesh around the bones, to give you a little more insight of what happened in the three weeks that have passed between the end of part 14 and the beginning of this part. i hated the idea that there would be someone out there thinking that i have mucked up a perfectly good story with an ending that was not up to par with the rest of it and i hope that with these revisions, i have managed to redeem myself, at least a little. if not, at least i have made it longer:) but this - for real this time - is it for Fix You. i've loved writing this story so much (despite the occasional moments of wishing to pull my hair out of my head or hit the computer with something heavy and blunt) and it's been great to have you with me for the journey, you've been the best:)_

**Part 15**

Three weeks after his wedding Darcy was sitting in his study, on the verge of losing sanity. Nothing, absolutely nothing had gone as he had planned. He had spent his wedding night alone, sleepless and miserable, missing his wife though only a wall separated them. Several times that night and on the nights that followed, he had stood behind her door, his hand lifted in preparation for a knock, but his courage had always failed him. And the more days had passed, the more desperate he had become. A week ago, his sister had arrived to Pemberley and though he loved her dearly, he had never been so little pleased to see her in his life. How he had hoped that Elizabeth and Georgiana would become great friends, and now he spent his days brooding, jealous for the attention his wife was paying his sister. And then, that very morning, the final blow had been dealt and he felt completely beaten. To damnation with that man!

He sighed as he remembered those first days after the wedding when everything had still seemed promising. The first moments of the morning after their wedding night had been awkward. She had been so quiet and he had not known what to make of it. But he had done his best to draw her out, made idle talk of the news on the morning's paper, of the weather they might expect on their way to the North. Of his plans of what they might do once they arrived – though certain plans he had thought it best to leave unmentioned, as they involved mainly the two of them spending copious amounts of time in the Master bedroom. Soon enough she had seemed herself again, smiling like she had the previous night, full of curiosity towards their next destination. He had been relieved – whatever had been bothering her in the morning seemed to have been forgot by the time they got into the carriage.

The journey to Pemberley had taken two whole days and a good part of a third, but he would not have minded if it had lasted a week. Under other circumstances he might have detested the idea of spending several days sitting in a carriage, but with Elizabeth everything had felt different and new. A good part of the journey had been spent in conversation and he had been happy to discover that they had seemed to be reaching that same level of confidence that had prevailed before the unfortunate business with Miss Lydia and Wickham. He had told her countless tales of Pemberley, of his ancestors who had built it, of the happy days of his childhood, of the mundane things of his life there. By the time he had found himself talking enthusiastically about crop rotation, he had blushed in embarrassment and asked her if she was very bored with him already, but she had laughed like it was the most absurd idea ever and prompted him to continue. How he loved to hear her laugh.

Occasionally, they had lapsed into a companionable silence, reading books or looking at the scenery passing by. Though if he was perfectly honest, she had been the one to do most of the reading, for he had spent half of his time stealing glances at her like a lovesick puppy and the other half berating himself for being such a ridiculous fool. By the time they had reached the inn where they were to stop for the first night, he had concocted in his head the most pleasant of daydreams, where the innkeeper would regretfully announce that there was only one room left and that they would have to share. No such luck, of course.

On the second day of the journey the weather had turned cold and they had huddled under blankets with warmed bricks to keep the cool away. After a few hours of contemplation he had finally convinced himself that she most definitely did not look like she was warm enough and had boldly suggested that she move to sit next to him so that they could benefit from each other's warmth. She had blushed profusely but accepted and, to be sure, burrowing under a blanket together with Elizabeth had done wonders to the warmth of _his_ body, at least. It still stirred a longing ache in his chest when he remembered the unexpected intimacy of simply removing her gloves. She had told him that her hands were cold and he had first taken his own gloves off and then, carefully, removed hers too. Her hands had felt so small, covered by his bigger ones, when he had taken them between his palms and massaged them to warm them up. For the rest of the journey, the gloves had not been needed, for he had refused to let go of her hands, immensely satisfied when it had seemed that she was of the same mind.

That night, at the second inn they had stayed in, encouraged by the memory of her form huddled up against his and the way she had leaned on his shoulder when she had dozed off, he had kissed her. A muttered curse rolled off his lips as he looked back at the way he had acted. They had, once again, been standing in front of the door of her room. Her cheeks had been flushed and her eyes bright, and she had been laughing at him, lively in her description of the scowl he had apparently worn when the innkeeper, some forty years his senior, had made some flirtatious remark to Elizabeth. She had looked so irresistible, so very.... Elizabeth, that he had been quite unable to stop himself. But it had been a mistake to try to kiss her, he had quickly learned, and one that he had paid for dearly. For as soon as his lips had touched hers, reveling in the sweet softness of that first brush he remembered so clearly from that fateful day in Netherfield, the desires that had threatened to overwhelm him for so long now had overtaken his senses. Before he had known what was happening, he had wrapped his arms around her and pinned her against the door of her room, his kisses no longer those of a gentle first lover but those of a man starved, hungry and demanding, the evidence of his desire for her pressing against her belly.

It had not been until a whimper had escaped her lips, soft and frightened, that he had come back to his senses and let her go. The memory of her face, her lips red and swollen, her eyes wide with trepidation, still made him ashamed of himself. How could he have acted like that? He had sworn to himself that he would wait, that he would respect her wishes. He had made fun of her for being afraid of him. And then, like a common cad, he had attacked her like that, and in the hallway of an inn no less, where anyone could have seen them. Of course, he had swiftly apologized to her, promising that it would not happen again, but the damage had been done. The next morning, she had not sat by him in the carriage, and the conversation had been stilted at best.

Darcy stood up to pour himself a glass of brandy. He had really made a mess of things. He had dreamed of the first time he would show Elizabeth Pemberley for so many times, and then the moment had been ruined, all because of his damned impatience to bed her. What was he? Some bloody lad of sixteen who could think of nothing else? But he knew it was more than that. He did not just want to bed her, to possess her. He needed her, not just in his bed but in his life. He needed her so much that it made him ache.

When they had reached the grounds of Pemberley and arrived to the place where one could catch the first glimpses of the house, the driver had stopped, as per his orders. He had helped Elizabeth out of the carriage and they had walked to a spot nearby, the one that in his opinion offered the best view down to the bottom of the little valley where the house stood. Whether if it was the presence of Elizabeth, or the light, pristine sheet of snow that had covered the ground overnight, he did not know. But even he himself thought that Pemberley had never looked as beautiful as it did just then.

And when he had turned to look at his wife, he had seen that she thought so too. _William_, she had said in a reverent whisper, _it is so very beautiful_. How he had longed just then to take her in his arms, to give her a soft, sweet kiss. But he had not dared to. Not after what he had done on the night before. And that, to him, had turned the whole moment sour. Instead of reaching for her, he had taken a few steps away from her in an effort to restrain himself and pointed out to her some places of interest. But it had felt awkward somehow, and it had seemed to him that her interest had suddenly vanished, too. Despondent, he had lead her back to the carriage and they had sat in silence until they had reached the house.

The brandy burned in his throat and he wondered if it had been such a good idea to have some in the first place. Certainly, it would take more than a simple glass of brandy to take the edge off the pain he was in. The morning had been an utter disaster. And the worst of it was that Elizabeth had not allowed him to comfort her. Instead she had spent the last two hours locked up in her chambers with Georgiana. It irked him that she would rather tell her worries to his sister, even though he knew it was petty of him to think so. But Elizabeth was _his wife_ after all, was it not his duty to comfort her? How was he ever to perform that duty if she did not even let him in her room?

Once again his mind turned to the question that had been plaguing him for days on end, the same one that had been haunting him before they were married. What if she would never love him? What if he had ruined her life, compromising her and making her marry him? The idea was almost too daunting to think of and certainly not one he dared to approach with her. What if the answer was yes? Could he live with himself, knowing that he could never make her as happy as she might have been with someone else? That he had robbed her of the possibility of ever finding out? The mere suspicion drove him mad and he was convinced that knowing for sure would be too much for him to take.

The relationship they had now certainly could not make her happy. Hell, it did not even make him happy, and he was in love with her after all. To anyone looking on from the outside it might have seemed that they were as happy as the next couple. And they had certainly fooled Georgiana, she was still none the wiser about their circumstances, or so he thought. They were amiable enough, quite capable of carrying on conversations, albeit a little stiffly and in his mind never about anything that mattered. The were friendly, not one cross word had been exchanged during the weeks they had spent at Pemberley. They were polite. But all these words felt bitter in his mouth. He did not want amiable. Friendly and polite could go to hell. He wanted to love his wife as a man ought to! He wanted to carry her to his bed every night and make love to her, instead of awkward words and pecks on the cheek at the door of her bedchamber. He wanted to share with her his every thought, wanted to know hers. Instead they talked of weather, of Pemberley. Perhaps of books on a good day.

After the disaster at the inn, he had vowed once again to be patient. He would not scare her with inappropriate advances. He would wait for her to give him a sign that she was ready. But no sign had ever come. Instead, the more days passed, the more awkward became their interactions. Oftentimes he caught her looking at him with a strange expression and it was these looks that got him thinking. She looked so anguished. Was she regretting marrying him? The fear of her answer kept him awake at nights.

Georgiana's arrival had seemed to improve the situation, but the effects had been temporary. With a third person at the dinner table, conversations had become less awkward, silences fewer and less oppressive. But soon enough, the friendship that he had hoped would develop between his wife and his sister had begun to blossom, and he had found himself unexpectedly feeling abandoned. Too often these days he found himself in a room with them, brooding in a corner, jealous of the whispers and the giggles, the girlish secrets the two seemed to share. He could not help it. Every time he heard Elizabeth's tinkling laughter, he felt a pang of jealousy for the fact that it was his sister and not him who had elicited it. Every time she teased his sister, he found himself missing the way she had used to tease him.

And yet he could not stay away from them. Often he found himself neglecting his duties as the Master, loitering outside the door of the music room to listen to Elizabeth and Georgiana playing duets, instead of going through his correspondence as he should have. More than once the account books had been abandoned when he had heard talk of a walk in the wintry gardens. Like a shadow he followed them, never contributing much to the conversation but always there, steadfastly ignoring all the hints Georgiana kept making about there being no need for him to accompany them _everywhere_.

And then, earlier that day, they had finally shut him out. After the incident that had taken place in the hall that morning, Elizabeth had rushed up to her rooms in tears. Moments later, as soon as Darcy had dealt with the situation, he had gone after her, only to be turned away from her door by Georgiana, unexpectedly stern, surprisingly calm. Elizabeth needed a moment alone, she had told him, before closing the door in front of him and leaving him standing in the hallway, stupefied. And now two hours had passed and the door remained shut. Sighing, he sat down and leaned his head against the backrest of the chair, closing his eyes. How had it all come to this? He had tried his best but he had not succeeded. She did not love him, quite possibly never would. The realization took his breath away, his shoulders slumped and he leaned his head against his hands.

His gloomy musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Go away, I am not to be disturbed!" he barked angrily. Used to being obeyed, he was surprised when he heard the door open despite his orders. The angry retort died on his lips when he looked up and saw that it was Elizabeth at the door, eyeing him warily.

"I am sorry to disturb you, but I would much wish to speak with you if you are not otherwise engaged."

She looked serious and he felt a knot forming in his stomach. Getting up, he gestured her to come in. "Of course."

She looked at him for a long moment before saying anything and he noticed that she was clutching something in her hands. A book?

"I have been talking to your sister this morning."

"Ah, yes." He tried not to sound as jealous as he felt.

"She- well, she has given me hope that I might once again have been labouring under a misapprehension when it comes to your person."

He looked at her, uncomprehending. What was this? Hope? Misapprehension? "How so, Elizabeth?"

"Some weeks ago, you said to me that you wished for there to be no more misunderstandings between us."

"Yes?"

"In the name of that wish, I would wish to tell you something. If, by the time I have finished, I will look like a fool in your eyes, then so be it. I cannot bear to go on another day like this."

Darcy swallowed, the knot in his stomach tightening. This was it. He had half a mind to try to stop her when she started speaking, afraid of what she might say. But, it turned out, it was good that he did not, for what she said was nothing like he expected:

"When- when you left for London to go after my sister and Mr. Wickham, I was sure that no matter the outcome of the trip, you would want nothing to do with me when you returned." He opened his mouth to protest, but she continued before he had the chance to do so. "You have since proved yourself more generous, more forgiving than I could ever have imagined any man to be. But I, I cannot forgive myself! Because of me, because of my foolishness and the foolishness of my sister, you are now a brother to the man you detest most in the world. And Georgiana, to find herself the sister of the man that has hurt her so grievously! She says to me that she does not mind, that it is of no importance to her and that she certainly does not blame me. But I saw how her face paled when she saw him this morning, the disgustingly appraising look he gave her, it is in every way appalling! And I am certainly to blame for it!"

Darcy took a deep breath to calm himself. Of course, she wanted to talk about Mr. and Mrs. Wickham and the unexpected appearance they had made that morning. What they had thought to achieve, to appear at Pemberley like that, he did not know and did not wish to know. He had pushed them back out of the door almost as soon as they had entered. But what had that to do with his person?

"Please, Elizabeth," he sighed, pleading. "Do not talk so. It is not your fault, none of it."

"But it is! I should have warned my sister, should have made her see his true nature! And if it were not for the fact that you are married to me, you and your sister would never have had to endure his presence, to have him show up at your doorstep like he did this morning! I promise you, I will write to Lydia immediately and make it known that her husband is not, under any circumstances, welcome to our home. But still, I cannot help but think that from all this you could have been spared if you had never met me!"

She was on the verge of tears now and he did the only thing he could: He went to her and twined his arms around her, cradling her head against his chest, ignoring the niggling thoughts that she might not wish it. "Never say that, Elizabeth. If I had never met you, it would have spared me of absolutely nothing. I would take a thousand Wickhams in my life if it meant that I could have one Elizabeth. I would not change meeting you for anything."

She lifted her head to look at him then, her eyes teary. "You would not?"

"Of course I would not, do you not know it by now?"

"But I thought..." she turned her head away and he could see that she was blushing. Desperate to get to the bottom of things now that they were finally talking, he took her chin in his hand and turned her face towards him again.

"You thought what?"

"See, that is the thing I really wished to talk to you about. Do not mistake me, you have been all that is kind and good to me. Gracious in your efforts to assist me in taking on the role that I am expected to take, to help me understand my duties as the Mistress of this house. But you- you have also seemed so distant recently and, you, well, you have not _come to me_ once since we married. I thought perhaps you had started to regret marrying me."

He looked at her, stunned. She thought that _he_ was regretting marrying _her_? "Elizabeth!" he cried, "What on Earth gave you that impression?"

"Well, I thought- you were so gentle with me on our wedding day, so kind in your attempt to relieve my worries and I thought that you meant to come to me that night but then you did not."

"But," he sputtered, unable to believe what he was hearing "you, you looked so afraid. I thought you wanted to wait!"

"Oh," she breathed, her voice full of wonder. But then she seemed to remember something else, and her voice was almost accusatory when she said: "What about that night at the inn? I thought you had changed your mind, but then you suddenly let go of me like it was some sort of a ghastly mistake and said that you would never do it again! And you have hardly touched me since! What else was I to think?"

His head spun at her words. She had waited for him to come to her? She had _wanted_ him? And all those looks of anguish he had seen had been because she had felt dejected? Feeling that his knees might give way at any moment, he backed towards a settee, pulling her with him. He could not look at her, afraid that if he did, she would vanish and he would wake up to find out that it had all been a dream. He heard his own voice, breaking, unsure, when he whispered:

"I- I thought you did not want me."

She knelt in front of him then, taking his hands in hers and he noticed again the book she had been holding. It looked familiar.

"Oh William, what fools we have been, the both of us! For weeks I have known that in you I have found myself the best of husbands, the kindest, most compassionate person I have ever met. And yet I was foolish enough not to realize that this too, this reticence, this distance you were keeping, you were doing out of respect for me, out of a selfless wish to make me comfortable."

He looked at her in wonder when she put in his hands the book she had been holding.

"It was this," she whispered, "along with some encouraging words from your sister, that helped me to realize that I might have been mistaken. She had gone to your room in Netherfield to get some other book and discovered this. She said she had only later noticed the inscription inside."

She looked at him as recognition dawned in his eyes. The book of poetry he had meant to give her for Christmas. It seemed so long ago. He remembered the words he had written on the inside of the cover, the hopefulness he had felt then. _To Elizabeth, the keeper of my heart. Love always, William._

She squeezed his hands, rested her head on his knees and whispered:

"You are the keeper of my heart, too, if only you still wish to be."

Too much. It was too much. A wave of relief washed over him as he absorbed her words. And as all the emotions he had bottled up inside him in the months that had passed, in all the years of his carefully restrained life, seemed to surface all at once, the unexpected happened and the mighty Master of Pemberley felt tears streaming down his face. His shoulders shook and his breathing hitched and he lifted his hands to his face in embarrassment. And then, he felt the hands of his wife cover his own, her weight on his legs as she sat on his lap. Her lips on his forehead as she whispered:

"Please, William, do not cry. I am sorry that it took me so long to figure it out. Please, let me love you. Let me fix you."

A kiss was how it began. A hungry, desperate kiss to give assurance as well as to take it. Her fingers in his hair and his on her back, pressing her closer, molding her form against his. How well they fit. When her hands left his hair and started fumbling with his neckcloth, he knew that this time he could not stop. How fortunate for him that she did not want him to.

Though there were to be countless other times later, that first time would be forever etched in both their minds as the perfect one. The arch of his brow when he asked her if she could lock the door since she was such an expert. The muffled giggles that escaped her when he was having trouble divesting her of her chemise. The little red mark he left just above her right breast when he kissed her there a bit too eagerly. The way her hands seemed to fit perfectly in the hollows under his shoulder blades when she straddled him and wrapped her hands around him. The whispered words of love exchanged between kisses and caresses. And the single tear that ran down her cheek when he finally penetrated her.

Later, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, lay on his back on a small and a rather uncomfortable settee in his study, the sleeping form of his wife a pleasant weight on his own, utterly, completely happy. He thought of the long and strange journey that had brought him there, to the most perfect moment of his life. So many missteps had been taken, so many words misinterpreted. So much misery that could have been avoided if only they had talked with each other instead of jumping head first into conclusions. But now, it all did not seem to matter. For she was here, with him, and would always be. Always, always Elizabeth. His wife.

**The End**

_that's it, dear readers, i thank you for reading:) all that's left to do now is for you to click the link below and tell me your final thoughts:)_

_cheers,_

_:)boogima_


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